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HALF-TRUE 

STORIES 

FOR LITTLE FOLKS 
OF JUST THE RIGHT AGE 
BY 

STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM 

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR 




PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS • SAN FRANCISCO 




Copyright, 1916, 

By PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
SAN FRANCISCO 




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m. 30 


©CI.A446157 



TO 

MY LITTLE DAUGHTER 
MARY 




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CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MISSIS GOWBIRD’S ONLY CHILD. 3 

GOING SOUTH.. ; . . 16 

CHUGKY AND MISS FLEA.41 

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT.50 

MISS MOLE’S COLD.63 

THE CHICKADEE FAMILY.71 

THE TAIL OF OLD MAN MUSKRAT.80 

LITTLE BUN. 87 

MR. DOG ACQUIRES KNOWLEDGE.95 

THE COMMITTEE ON MORALS .103 

THE CAWCUS.114 

THE LITTLE SHINER.121 

THE FIRST WOODPECKER AND THE NEXT.127 

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.135 

THE COMPLETE STONISHMENT OF MR. GRASSHOPPER .... 145 

KIDNAPPED.154 

SPOOKY.162 

CHICKAREE .169 

THE SMALLISH THUNDER-DEVIL.181 

THE END OF THE WORLD.193 


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. 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 

PAGE 

“ ‘Better come down,’ he called. ‘They can’t cackle under water, you 
know,’ and then his head disappeared, leaving a bubble on the surface.” 

(Frontispiece) 

‘‘They continued day after day to put things into the pit and the only 
child increased greatly in length and in breadth and his mouth filled the 
nest, so that the other children could no longer see out.”. 8 

‘‘Every time she dropped one in she had to stand on tip toe and give a 
little flop.”.12 

“ ‘Over there,’ said he, ‘is the Equator, where it’s sizzling hot and nobody 
has cold toes.’”.20 

‘‘He flew out over the deep blue sea and it was true, even as Mr. Bittern 
had said, there were no stops for dinner.”.24 

“ ‘Don’t you understand plain Sandpiper?’ shouted he as the benighted 
one continued to shake his head. ‘Then why don’t you say so?”’ ... 28 

“ ‘Which tooth is it?’ asked little Mr. Sandpiper, pecking at the nearest 
one, ‘Do you feel anything?’ ”.32 

“ ‘Pull out his tail! Wring his neck!’ yelled the howling monkeys as they 
swung through the trees.”.36 

‘‘When he was quite-a-small-boy he used to sit up on his hind legs and 
stuff red clover into his mouth the way he had seen his very fat Pa and his 
equally fat Grand-pa do.”.42 

“ ‘Let’s see!’ said the firefly, turning his lamp on Miss Moth, ‘Why, 
you’ll tie another knot in it if you aren’t careful. You should have had a 
light.’ ”.52 

‘‘In that instant Miss Deer Mouse saw the Imp-of-Satan fluttering in 
front of her doorway and it seemed to her that his face wore a fiendish 
grin.”.58 

“ ‘Seems to me you’re looking a little thin,’ said Uncle Hop-Toad. ‘You 
oughtn’t to be out here in this air.’ ”.66 

“Mr^. Chickadee was fluttering on the ground and trailing one wing in 
the dirt as if it were broken.” 74 

‘‘He glided through the bushes like a snake till he came to the pond.”. . 82 

‘‘And thereupon and thereafter this lone Little Bun danced by his lone 
little self by the light of the lonely moon.”.88 

‘‘And right then and there Mr. Dog acquired knowledge and gained 
wisdom and was greatly enlightened on the subject of Mr. Skunk.” 98 

[VII] 
















LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 

PAGE 

“ ‘Well, then we must elect a chairman,’ said Mr. Pop Eye to the other 
Committeemen.”.106 

“ ‘Stop that noise, Bug!’ said the Lady-Crow crossly.”.116 

‘‘He suddenly realized that he was precisely the size of a minute.” 122 

‘‘The First Squirrel and the First Rabbit came to hear him and were 
’stonished at his performance.”.128 

“ ‘Here I go,’ said she, ‘I’m going to fly!’ and just then the breeze caught 
the long thread, dragging her off the leaf.”.136 

“ ‘I don’t see any sense in that, but I suppose you have to get it out of your 
system,’ said the Measuring Worm.”.146 

‘‘The ball-bearing jaws dropped the egg shell and the clock-work legs rail 
her into the tunnel again.”.156 

“ ‘Gee! it’s lonesome!’ said Spooky one morning as he wobbled on his 
stravagant legs.”.164 

‘‘The slim head was swaying to and fro on the long thin neck and the 
burning eyes were fixed on him.” . v 174 

“ ‘I don’t mean now,’ said Little Bun, putting his behind foot over his ear 
to see if it rumbled.”. 184 

‘‘Thereupon Mr. Ruffed Grouse being at peace with himself and knowing 
no fear, stood upon his punky hemlock log and beat the air with his 
wings.”. 188 

“ ‘The lady of the house is not at home, either,’ said the small toad, 
staring at her until his eyes stuck out of his head.”.194 














HALF-TRUE STORIES 
FOR 

LITTLE FOLKS OF JUST THE RIGHT AGE 




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MISSIS COWBIRD’S ONLY CHILD 

O THE Middle-of-the-Woods came 
Missis Cowbird one day with her 
propensities. Mrs. Redeye lived 
there and Mrs. Yellow Warbler and 
neither of them knew anything 
about Missis Cowbird’s propensities. 

She asked them about housekeep¬ 
ing and if there was plenty of grub, 
and they were most scroobious and 
polite and said they thought that 
she would have no difficulty in obtaining provisions. 
Missis Cowbird said she was THAT pleased to hear it and, 
provisions or grub, it was all the same to her as long as 
there was plenty—all she wanted was vittles and drink. 

So she went snooping about in the bushes to see 
what families were living there, and when she saw Mrs. 
Redeye building her nest and found Mrs. Yellow Warb¬ 
ler carrying grass and roots she was THAT pleased. 

“It’s just grand,’’ said she, “and such a fine place 
to bring up a family.” 

“How interested she is,” observed Mrs. Redeye, “I 
see her watching me every day.” 

“She watches me too,” Mrs. Yellow Warbler said. 
“I wonder why she doesn’t begin her own nest.” 

“Land! but they’re simple minded,” said Missis 
Cowbird to herself. “This is a grand place.” 

When Mrs. Redeye finished her nest, which was like 
a silk purse, she laid a spickle-speckled-spotty egg in it 
and was perfectly happy. Having laid an egg and at- 

[3] 






HALF-TRUE STORIES 

tained happiness she flew away to rest herself and 
smooth her feathers. 

While she was gone Missis Cowbird, snooping about, 
looked in and saw the egg, all spickle-speckled. The 
nest looked so comfy that Missis Cowbird thought she 
would like to try it. So she sat on the egg to see how it 
felt. 

“It’s just grand,’’said she, and she decided that as 
soon as she had time she would make a nest like it. 
Before she knew it she had laid an egg by the side of 
Mrs. Redeye’s. 

“Land!’’ cried Missis Cowbird, “if I haven’t gone 
and laid an egg,’’ and she scrambled off the nest and 
flew away to the pasture. 

When Mrs. Redeye had arranged her feathers and 
eaten a worm or two she flew back to her nest to sit on 
her spickle-speckled-spotty egg. 

“That’s a funny egg,’’ said she. “I don’t remember 
laying that,’’ and she stood on the edge of the nest and 
stared at the big egg which was nearly twice as large as 
her own. “I must have laid it, of course, for how else 
could it get there?’’ And being a simple-minded bird 
she sat on the two eggs. 

When Mrs. Yellow Warbler finished her nest which 
was like a mejum-sized teacup, she laid a strictly fresh 
egg and was perfectly happy, and having attained hap¬ 
piness, she flew away to take the air and smooth her 
feathers. 

“As soon as I have time,’’ said Missis Cowbird as 

[4] 


MISSIS COWRIRD’S ONLY CHILD 

she went snooping through the woods, “I’ll build a 
nest like that,” and she stopped to look at the mejum- 
sized teacup nest of Mrs. Yellow Warbler. When she 
spied the strictly fresh egg she felt she must just try 
that nest once to see if it fitted her and then, her mind 
being distracted by the things of this world, she laid an 

egg. 

“Land!” cried she, “if I haven’t gone and laid an¬ 
other egg. I’m THAT careless,” and hearing a rustling 
in the bushes she hastily flew away and took care not 
to be seen again in the Middle-of-the-Woods. 

“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Yellow Warbler as she 
perched on the edge of her nest and stared at the low- 
down egg of Missis Cowbird. “Wha-a-t! I never laid 
such an egg as that* in my life,” and being a very astute 
young person she went to work to push the egg out of 
the nest. 

She pushed till she had a crik in her neck and her 
back hurt her, but every time she poked that low- 
down egg to the top of the nest it rolled back again, 
till at last she actually had to sit on it to rest herself. 
But Mrs. Yellow Warbler was a very astute young 
person indeed, and as she sat on that low-down egg 
she took counsel with herself and pondered deeply. 

The husband of Mrs. Yellow Warbler came and 
looked at her and asked, “My dear, are you asleep?” 

And she said: “No, I am thinking.” 

He went away greatly perplexed, and after a time 
he came again and asked, “My dear, are you hungry?” 

[51 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

And she said, “I have no time to eat.” 

And he went away more perplexed than ever. But 
she continued to sit on the low-down egg and to take 
counsel with herself. 

“It’s the only thing to be done,” said she at last, 
and she flew away and returned with a bill full of fuzz 
and began to build a floor over the low-down egg. 

The husband of Mrs. Yellow Warbler came again 
with a pink and green caterpillar in his mouth. 

“What in the name of the Great Horned Owl are 
you doing?” cried he, dropping the pink and green 
caterpillar on his vest as he caught sight of Mrs. Yellow 
Warbler. 

“I’m covering up this egg,” said Mrs. Yellow 
Warbler. 

“Covering it up!” cried the husband of Mrs. Yellow 
Warbler. “Woman! isn’t that your egg?” 

“My egg! do you take me for an ostrich?” 

“Well, whose egg is it then?” < 

“I don’t know whose egg it is, it’s not mine.” 

“H’m. Well let’s roll it out.” 

“You can’t roll it out. I’ve tried ever so hard and 
it can’t be done.” 

“Let me show you,” said the husband of Mrs. 
Yellow Warbler, puffing out his feathers and poking 
the egg with his bill. 

“Now are you satisfied?” asked Mrs. Yellow Warb¬ 
ler, after he had poked the egg round and round the 
nest and rumpled all the feathers on his head. 

[ 6 ] 


MISSIS COWBIRD’S ONLY CHILD 

“I’m not feeling very well this morning,’’ said 
he. “That squash bug that I swallowed-’’ 

“We’ve GOT to build a floor over it,’’ said Mrs. 
Yellow Warbler emphatically. 

“If it hadn’t been for that squash bug-’’ 

Mrs. Yellow Warbler went off for another bill full 
of fuzz. 

“Oh dear!’’ cried she, standing on the edge of the 
nest a moment later with the bill full of fuzz and let¬ 
ting her wings droop. 

“What is it?’’ 

“Why I’ll have to cover up my own egg too. I 
never thought of that!’’ 

“I told you that wasn’t the way to do it,’’ said the 
husband of Mrs. Warbler, looking more cheerful. 

“What SHALL I do!’’ cried Mrs. Yellow Warbler. 

“Why don’t you let it alone?’’ 

“Yes and hatch out a goodness-knows-what.’’ 

“If I hadn’t eaten that squash bug-” 

“I’ll have to cover it up—that’s all there is to it,’’ 
said Mrs. Yellow Warbler, and she brought another 
bill full of fuzz and being a very industrious as well as 
astute young person she soon had the work done. 

And she made herself comfy in the nest which was 
like a mejum-sized teacup, laid three strictly fresh 
eggs and was happy again. 

But Mrs. Redeye, being a simple soul and just-as- 
good-as-she-could-be, sat on the low-down egg of 
Missis Cowbird and laid more spickle-speckled-spotty 

[ 7 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

eggs of her own; and in due time the eggs were hatched, 
but the egg of Missis Cowbird hatched first. 

And the only child of Missis Cowbird was large and 
bony and exceeding ugly. He had no feathers, he had 
no morals, and his mouth was like the bottomless pit. 

When the eggs had all hatched Mr. Redeye came to 
look at his new children, while Mrs. Redeye perched on 
the edge of the nest. 

“Lord! but he’s ugly,’’ said he, looking into the 
bottomless pit which was Missis Cowbird’s only child. 

“He’s not quite as handsome as the others,” Mrs. 
Redeye said. “But don’t you think he looks a little 
like your family?” 

“Looks like a buzzard,” said Mr. Redeye. 

“O my dear, how you talk. See what a splendid big 
baby he is.” 

“We’ll never be able to fill him up,” said Mr. Red¬ 
eye, shaking his head. “Never.” 

“He’ll need plenty to eat, poor boy,” Mrs. Red¬ 
eye said. “He’s so large for his age. Really he’s not 
so bad looking. See what a fine mouth he has. He 
does look a little like your grandfather.” 

“Looks like a buzzard, I tell you,” said Mr. Redeye 
again. 

“Are you hungry, dear?” asked Mrs. Redeye, look¬ 
ing fondly at Missis Cowbird’s only child. 

“Y--an--h-h!” squawked the only child, 
h-h!!” 


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MISSIS COWBIRD’S ONLY CHILD 

“What a sweet voice he has. DID you hear him? 
Let’s feed the darling.” 

So Mr. and Mrs. Redeye worked steadily for four¬ 
teen hours and put one hundred and ninety-two lovely 
green caterpillars into the bottomless pit which was 
Missis Cowbird’s only child, and then they slept the 
sleep of the just. 

At precisely three thirty A.M., Eastern time, the 
only child awoke. 

“Y-an-h-h-!” cried he. “Y-an-h-h-!!” 

“The dear!” said Mrs. Redeye, “he’s hungry.” 

“You’d better give the other children something 
today,” said Mr. Redeye. “He took it all yesterday.” 

“Oh, they don’t need as much as he does—he’s such 
a big baby.” 

So Mr. and Mrs. Redeye worked fourteen hours and 
put one hundred and ninety-nine pale green cater¬ 
pillars into the bottomless pit but the bottomless pit 
was not filled, and again they slept the sleep of the 
just. 

And they continued day after day to put things 
into the pit and the only child increased greatly in 
length and in breadth and his mouth filled the nest, 
so that the other children could no longer see out and 
were fed only by the caterpillar crumbs which he let 
fall: all but the smallest, who was kicked out of the 
nest by the only child stretching his legs which had 
growing pains orful. 

Then Missis Cowbird’s only child acquired feathers 

[ 11 ] 


\ 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

on his chin and was uneasy in his mind and discon¬ 
tented with his home. 

“The poor boy needs a tonic,” said Mrs. Redeye. 

“Y--an-h-h-!” squawked the only child. “Y--an- 
h-h-!” and he scrambled to the edge of the nest and 
flopped his wings. 

“Look at him—he’ll fall!” cried Mrs. Redeye. 
“O dear!” 

“Hope he don’t fall on me—the buzzard!” said 
Mr. Redeye, backing off. 

The only child shut his eyes and flopped into the 
next tree, taking with him the bottomless pit. 

“Isn’t he wonderful!” cried Mrs. Redeye. “And 
the very first time he’s tried it.” 

“Just see how well your brother flies,” said she to 
the other children in the nest, who were stretching 
their thin necks and taking a full breath for the first 
time in their lives. 

“Y--an-h-h-!” squawked the only child, fluttering 
to the ground. 

“O you poor boy — you’re hungry,” cried Mrs. 
Redeye, and she worked the rest of that day putting 
pale green caterpillars into the bottomless pit. Every 
time she dropped one in she had to stand on tip toe 
and give a little flop. 

“G--rooslum!” exclaimed Mrs. Yellow Warbler, 
most civilly, when she first saw Mrs. Redeye feeding 
the only child. “Who’s that?” 

“This is my big boy,” simpered Mrs. Redeye. 
“Isn’t he splendid?” 
















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1 


MISSIS COWBIRD’S ONLY CHILD 

“Splendid,” assented Mrs. Yellow Warbler, scrap¬ 
ing her bill very hard on a twig. “He doesn’t look at 
all like you, does he?” 

“He takes after his father’s family,” Mrs. Redeye 
said. “He has such a good appetite. I brought him 
up entirely on pale green caterpillars and he’s never 
had the least trouble with his bowels.” 

“Looks healthy enough,” said Mrs. Yellow Warbler, 
scraping away. 

“Y-an-n-h-h!” squawked the only child, opening 
the bottomless pit. “Y-'an-n-h-h-!!” 

“I think he is going to have a voice,” said Mrs. 
Redeye proudly. 

“G--rooslum!” and Mrs. Yellow Warbler flew away 
home and told how Mrs. Redeye was raising a cowbird 
and thought he was going to have a voice. 

“That’s what you would have done if it hadn’t 
been for me, my dear,” said the husband of Mrs. 
Yellow Warbler. 


[ 15 ] 


GOING SOUTH 

ONK! HONK! HONK!—Faster! Faster! 
cried the eldest goose. “We’ve far 
to go.” 

“HONK! HONK! HONK! We’re 
coming,” answered the flock. 

They were flying high in a dull 
grey sky and the earth lay like a 
purple and violet bowl beneath 
them. There were patches of black 
forest and the silver thread of the 
river, toy villages and fields that looked like checker 
boards, as hour after hour the flying wedge moved 
forward. 

“HONK! HONK! HONK! There it is,” cried the 
eldest goose. 

“HONK! HONK! HONK! Here we are,” answered 
the flock as the flying wedge hurled itself through the 
sunset clouds towards the pond, a shining silvery speck 
of blue in the distance. 

“I’m weary!” cried the youngest gander as the flock 
settled down upon the pond. 

“Be a man, my son! Be a man!” said the eldest 
goose. 

“I’m hungry,” the youngest gander cried. 

“There’s food for those who will hunt for it,” the 
eldest goose replied. 

Little Mr. Sandpiper, teetering along the shore, 
heard the flock honk and turning his head sideways 
saw the flying wedge like glittering motes in the sky. 

[ 16 ] 





GOING SOUTH 

“The Geese are coming,” said he. “Now it will be 
crowded and noisy. Just listen to those Bluebills and 
Redheads—what a clatter they make. I can’t stand so 
many cackling women—gabble! gabble! gabble!” 

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Horned Grebe, 
bobbing up from the bottom of the pond. 

“O those cackling Geese are here—arid all the 
Bluebills and Redheads are gabbling. It’s no place for 
a quiet man.” 

“You wouldn’t notice that if you were married,” 
said Mr. Horned Grebe. “But it’s quiet enough under 
water; I’m going below again,” and he slowly sank till 
only his head was out of water. “Better come down,” 
he called. “They can’t cackle under water, you know,” 
and then his head disappeared, leaving a bubble on the 
surface. 

“He’s a queer duck—and there’s another,” said 
little Mr. Sandpiper as he heard Miss Loon laughing 
hysterically. “They’re all queer.” 

“They’ve come!” screamed Miss Loon from the 
pond. 

“I’m not deaf,” said little Mr. Sandpiper. 

“I say they’ve com-m-m-m-m-m-e!!!” screamed 
Miss Loon again. 

“Well, I hear them,” said little Mr. Sandpiper, 
starting on a run for the swamp. “That woman would 
drive a man crazy.” 

Mr. Bittern—he-of-the-legs—was standing in the 
swamp, up to his knees in water and apparently staring 

[ 17 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

at the sky directly overhead, so that his bill and neck 
made a straight line and looked very much like a stick 
in the mud. 

“I wonder what he’s looking at,” said little Mr. 
Sandpiper, turning his head on one side and gazing at 
the heavens. 

He-of-the-legs never moved and little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper skipped around the edge of the pool, staring at 
the sky. 

“What can it be?” asked Miss Crow as she saw 
Mr. Bittern and little Mr. Sandpiper gazing upward. 
And she paused and peered at the sky also. 

“There must be something up there,” said Mr. and 
Mrs. Chickadee, when they saw the others, and they 
craned their necks and observed the heavens from a 
cracker vine. 

And there gathered in that place others to the num¬ 
ber of five and twenty to gaze at the sky and one did as 
another, but no one thought of asking why. 

Among those present were Mrs. Grackle—moire 
antique; Mrs. Robin, costume of slate grey with rufous 
corsage; Mrs. Redeye, olive green. 

“Do you see it?” asked Mrs. Robin. 

“I don’t quite make it out,” replied Mrs. Grackle. 

“Where is it?” inquired Mr. Chickadee. 

“Somewhere up there,” said Miss Crow. 

“Ho-hum!” exclaimed Mr. Bittern, suddenly drop¬ 
ping his head and yawning prodijjus, “I must have been 
asleep—why what are the blamed fools staring at?” 

[ 18 ] 


GOING SOUTH 

“It must have gone,” remarked Miss Crow, preen¬ 
ing her feathers. 

“There doesn’t seem to be anything there now,” 
Mrs. Grackle said, scraping her bill. 

“Not a thing,” assented Mr. Chickadee, hopping off. 

“Ho-hum! not a blamed thing,” yawned he-of-the- 
legs, winking one little eye most solemn. “Well! 
Well! Well! I suppose you’re all ready to start—it’ll 
soon be time. Days are gettin’ short; grub’s gettin’ 
kind of short too. Ho-hum!” and Mr. Bittern opened 
his bill very wide, then shut it with a snap and poked it 
into his feathers. 

“Not I,” exclaimed old Miss Crow, drawing herself 
up. “This country’s good enough for me. I’ve no 
use for those savages—TOUcans and TROgans and 
PELLIcans and goodness knows what. Painted and 
bedizzened heathen!” 

“Don’tyouever want to travel?” asked Mrs. Redeye, 
olive green. “It broadens the mind.” 

“Travel!” sniffed Miss Crow contemptuously, “Yes, 
and waste my time with those painted savages.” 

“Ho-hum! we can’t all see things the same way,” 
said he-of-the-legs, opening his bill very wide and tuck¬ 
ing it away again. 

“Well, I never could see how decent folks could go 
straggling off every year to these outlandish places.” 

“Ho-hum!” 

“It’s so warm and comfy,” said Mrs. Redeye: 
“SUCH bugs and so much sunshine.” 

[ 19 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“Must be tejjus to have the sun shining all the 
time,” snapped Miss Crow. 

“Ho-hum!” 

“It gets so cold here,” Mrs. Redeye continued cheer¬ 
fully. “It makes me creep to think of it.” 

“There’s nothing like cold weather for building 
you up,” said old Miss Crow “—especially if you’ve been 
settin’.” 

“Ho-hum!” 

“Now you see here, Mr.—Mr.—Legs.” 

“Bittern, ma’am. N-r-e-t-t-i-b,—Bittern.” 

“N-r-e-t-t-i-b,” repeated Miss Crow. “That doesn’t 
spell Bittern—unless you spell it backwards.” 

“And why not spell it backwards, ma’am? Back¬ 
wards or forwards or inside out or upside down, or 
hind-side-before—my name’s Bittern just the same— 
Ho-hum!” 

“I wish they’d hold their tongues,” said little 
Mr. Sandpiper as he flew to the other side of the pool. 
“There isn’t a place left where a man can be quiet.” 

One by one and two by two, they who had gathered 
to the number of five and twenty to see what Mr. Bit¬ 
tern had been looking at, silently dispersed until only 
little Mr. Sandpiper and he-of-the-legs were left. 

“Grub’s gettin’ scarce,” remarked Mr. Bittern 
one day, the weather being exceeding cold. 

“I wouldn’t mind that if those Bluebills and Red¬ 
heads didn’t make so much noise,” little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper said. 


[20] 



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GOING SOUTH 


“Ho-hum!” 

“They talk all the time, but they haven’t anything 
to say.” 

“People that haven’t anything to say have GOT to 
talk all the time. Ho-hum! You’re the solemnest 
little cuss between here and salt water. Why don’t 
you make a noise yourself?” 

“I don’t see any sense in that,” said little Mr. 
Sandpiper. 

“You don’t, hey! Well, there isn’t any.” 

“Ho-hum! It’s getting too cold for me,” con¬ 
tinued Mr. Bittern stretching, his long neck. “I’m 
goin’ to get out of here,” and he flopped his wings 
until he pulled his thin legs out of the mud and flew 
slowly away over the swamp. 

“Quack! Quack! Quack!” cried the Redheads, “is 
everybody ready? Wait till I smooth my feathers! 
Why don’t we start? Hurry up!” There was the 
sound of wings striking the water and then a WHIRR 
overhead: the Redheads had started. 

That afternoon a flock of grackles passed over the 
swamp like a charge of shot. 

“I’m going!” screamed Miss Loon from the pond. 
“I say I’m go-o-o-o-o-o-i-n-g!!!” 

“That woman would drive a man crazy,” said 
little Mr. Sandpiper, running away from the sound. 
There was ice on the edge of the pools and he warmed 
first one foot and then the other in his feathers. “I’ll 
soon have it all to myself,” said he. 

[ 23 ]' 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


But his toes grew exceeding cold and he was obliged 
to run up and down to keep warm. Some noisy argu¬ 
ment there was among the Geese and with the Blue- 
bills much talk of this and that; and thus, by reason 
of cold feet and a hunger for solitude, little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper was filled with unrest. 

Now little Mr. Sandpiper being an orphan of tender 
years had never known the society of his kind and had 
had no little Sandpiper boys to play with. He had 
left Labrador, where he was born, because after the 
moult everybody else seemed to be going and he found 
himself moving along day by day. He remembered his 
mother saying that when winter came they would go 
to the Equator where it was sizzling hot and nobody 
had cold toes; but she disappeared one day and he 
never saw her again. 

And it came to pass that as little Mr. Sandpiper was 
standing by the edge of the pond at night with his head 
under his wing, out of the sky there came to his ears 
the voice of a Solitary Sandpiper—one even as himself. 
Except his mother’s, never before had he heard the 
voice of his kind and it made a new man of him. Turn¬ 
ing his head he peered up into the darkness and listened. 
There it was again—sounding far above the earth—the 
voice of one even as he. 

A strange feeling took possession of him. He for¬ 
got the Bluebills and the Geese and the coldness of the 
toes. Again he heard the call, far in the distance this 
time, and he sprang into the air and followed in the 

[ 24 ] 









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GOING SOUTH 


darkness, rising higher and higher as he went, till he 
had become a little moving speck among the clouds. 
Other birds were flying in the darkness, some far above 
him, some nearer the earth. Now and again he thought 
he heard the voice of the Solitary Sandpiper and darted 
ahead. 

When day broke he was still scuddng across the 
sky thirty miles an hour, a mote in the morning light. 
But the other Sandpiper was nowhere to be seen. “I’m 
going to the Equator,” said he to himself. The call 
of the Sandpiper had changed him. Yes, surely he 
was another man. Hour after hour and day after day 
he kept on his journey, thirty miles an hour, by schedule 
(subject to change without notice). For there had en¬ 
tered into the heart of the mote in the sunshine Which 
was little Mr. Sandpiper, a yearning not understood 
of man. 

From time to time he came to earth—according 
to schedule—to feed and to rest himself. The first 
stop for refreshments was on the banks of the Potomac. 
He breakfasted in the Dismal Swamp, had lunch by the 
Great Pedee and dined on snails on the edge of Lake 
Okeechobee. On the shores of Lake Okeechobee he 
beheld a stick in the mud and lo! it was Mr. Bittern— 
he-of-the-legs. 

“Ho-hum!” said Mr. Bittern. “The solemnest 
little cuss between here and salt water!” 

“I’m going to the Equator,” cried little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper. “Have you been there?” 

[ 27 ] 



HALF-TRUE STORIES 


“No’p! and what’s more, I’m not goin’. Why it 
lies beyond the sea, man! Hurricanes, and no stops 
for dinner, mind you,” and Mr. Bittern opened his 
mouth very wide and winked an eye at little Mr. 
Sandpiper. “I can get enough grub right here,”— 
pulling one leg out of the mud—“and what more do 
you want? 1 ’ and Mr. Bittern speared a small goggleeye 
and swallowed him. “Ho-hum! We can’t all see 
things the same way.” 

“I should think you’d want to go to the Equator, 
though,” said little Mr. Sandpiper. “Where it’s siz¬ 
zling hot and nobody has cold toes.” 

“Ho-hum!” 

But somehow he was not so sure about the Equator, 
since Mr. Bittern had mentioned the hurricanes—and 
no stops for dinner, and he puttered around and dod¬ 
dered about on the edge of Lake Okeechobee till evening. 
It was true that snails were plentiful and neither were 
his toes exceeding cold and he meditated upon these 
things as he was about to fall asleep, when suddenly 
from out of the sky came the cry of a passing Sandpiper 
—the voice of one even as he. And thereupon ceased 
the meditations and little Mr. Sandpiper, seized again 
with that yearning not understood of man, sprang into 
the air and followed in the darkness. 

He came to the tip-end of Florida and beyond him 
lay the sea as blue as blue could be. “Over there,” 
said he, “is the Equator, where it’s sizzling hot and 
nobody has cold toes.” And he flew out over the deep 

[ 28 ] 





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blue sea and it was true, even as Mr. Bittern had said, 
there were no stops for dinner. In due time he arrived 
at the coast of Yucatan, according to schedule and 
completely empty, and saw many heathen birds of 
strange customs—TOUcans and TROgans and PELLI- 
cans. He marvelled at the tail of the Motmot and the 
brilliant handpainted nose of the Toucan, saying to 
himself—being as yet young and untravelled, “Shoot 
the nose!” and the Toucan, seeing little Mr. Sandpiper 
teetering along, remarked to an elderly Trogan, “There’s 
one of those fool tourists staring at me.” 

After a continuous luncheon which lasted three 
days and consisted entirely of bugs with foreign names, 
all unknown to little Mr. Sandpiper who had never 
had anything but home cooking before, he set out once 
more over the deep blue sea and was soon out of sight 
of land. Again he suffered from irregular meals but 
he continued to yearn for the Equator with a yearning 
not understood of man. And so he arrived at length 
—having made no stops for dinner—on the oozy banks 
of the Orinoco, and seeing a strange heathen bird, the 
same being of a delicate pink hue and possessed of 
extremely long legs, asked, “Is this the Equator?” 

But the heathen bird of a delicate/pink hue only 
shook his head, whereupon little Mr. Sandpiper stood 
on tiptoe and repeated the question in a louder voice 
while the strange bird looked at him sadly and made 
no reply. “Don’t you understand plain Sandpiper?” 
shouted he as the benighted one continued to shake his 
head. “Then why don’t you say so?” 

[ 31 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


“These natives haven’t any sense,” said he to him¬ 
self as he teetered along the oozy banks of the Orinoco, 
picking up a bug with a foreign name now and then. 
“I wish I knew what I was eating—these bugs have 
such a queer taste.” 

“Are you the young gentleman who was looking 
for the Equator?” asked a languid voice with a soft 
southern accent. Little Mr. Sandpiper dropped the 
foreign bug with the cayenne flavor which he was 
trying to swallow, as he saw the ancient-and-honorable 
Mr. Crocodile peering at him from the coffee-colored 
water of the Orinoco. 

“Step this way, please,” said Mr. Crocodile, with a 
twelve-foot smile. 

Little Mr. Sandpiper had never seen a tropical smile 
before and he stood looking down the long rows of 
shining teeth—like two rows of tombstones—into the 
dim interior of the ancient-and-honorable Mr. Croco¬ 
dile which lay beyond. “What a polite native,” he 
said to himself as the tropical smile grew more expan¬ 
sive, “and so smiling.” 

“There’s a mango seed or an ivory nut wedged 
in my tooth,” explained the ancient-and-honorable, 
beaming tropically, “and it hurts orful. If you’ll just 
get it out we’ll start for the Equator.” 

“Which tooth is it?” asked little Mr. Sandpiper, 
pecking at the nearest one, “Do you feel anything?” 

“Nod budg. Muth be furer back.” 

“How far back?” inquired little Mr. Sandpiper, 
[ 32 ] 



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GOING SOUTH 

standing on tip-toe and looking down the long rows of 
tombstones. 

At that moment appeared a troop of howling mon¬ 
keys, swinging by their tails in a bread fruit tree. 
“Yah! Yah! Yah!” cried they, catching sight of little 
Mr. Sandpiper. , “Skin him! Pull his tail out!” 

“Oh, what horrid hairy little boys,” exclaimed 
little Mr. Sandpiper, getting ready to fly. 

“Don’t be afraid,” said Mr. Crocodile with his 
tropical smile, “they aren’t little boys—they’re only 
monkeys.” 

“They look like little boys to me,” said little Mr. 
Sandpiper suspiciously. 

“Pull out ^his tail! Wring his neck!” yelled the 
howling monkeys as they swung through the trees. 

“They ARE little boys!” cried little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper in a panic and he darted into the air and scudded 
away over the oozy banks of the Orinoco. 

The fear of little boys had entered into his heart, 
for his mother had said to him when he came from the 
egg—“My son, of all wild animals the most terrible is 
the little boy; he is greatly to be feared.” And so 
little Mr. Sandpiper, hearing the howling of the mon¬ 
keys which then filled the jungle, dar^d not return to 
bask in the tropical smile of the ancient-and-honorable 
Mr. Crocodile and kept on his way till he came to a 
Military Macaw perched in a mangrove and staring at 
the coffee-colored water. 


[ 35 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


“Is this your first visit to the tropics—and how 
long are you going to stay—and what are your im¬ 
pressions of our country?” screamed the Military 
Macaw. 

“Dear me—I really don’t know,” said little Mr. 
Sandpiper, wishing he hadn’t stopped. “Will you 
please tell me if this is the Equator, where it’s sizzling 
hot and nobody—” 

“No, this is Grand View, but it’s hot as the hinges 
—Is this your first visit to the Tropics—and how long 
are you going to stay—and—what—” 

“Really I must be going,” said little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper, edging away. “Can you tell me how far it is to 
the Equator?” 

“Eight hours—Is this your first—” 

But little Mr. Sandpiper was already on the wing. 
“He’s worse than Miss Loon,” said he. And he con¬ 
tinued on his journey for eight hours and in the eighth 
hour saw and heard a prodijjus flock of Demnition 
parrots. Demnition parrots, you know, are green and 
red, and African parrots are grey. “That seems to be 
some sort of a winter resort,” exclaimed little Mr., 
Sandpiper, hurrying forward. “It must be the 
Equator.” 

The parrots which were as the sands of the sea¬ 
shore, were all screaming at once and little Mr. Sand¬ 
piper was soon filled with dismay. When they caught 
sight of him they paused for a moment. “A man! A 

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GOING SOUTH 

man!” they shrieked, and with the rustling of myriad 
wings they rose from their perches and settled all 
about him. 

“How do you like the Equator?” screamed the lady 
parrot nearest him. 

“Such a quiet restful place,” shrieked another. 

“It’s almost too quiet,” squawked a third. 

“Won’t you join us?” screamed the first. “We were 
discussing the benefits of rest.” 

“And of quiet,” cried the second. “But perhaps 
he isn’t interested.” 

“Dear me, madam,” began little Mr. Sandpiper, 
wondering how he could escape, “I was looking for a 
quiet spot.” 

“JUST the place for him,” shrieked all the lady 
parrots. 

“He’s so shy,” screamed several of the nearest as 
little Mr. Sandpiper grew more and more fidgety. 
“—and so young.” 

Little Mr. Sandpiper looked anxiously about and 
wished he had never had that yearning for the Equator, 
not understood of man—even if it was sizzling hot 
and nobody had cold toes. As soon as the lady parrots 
began to discuss again the benefits of quiet he darted 
away through the brush, dodging the bugs with foreign 
names and never pausing till he was out of breath. 

As he was resting in the shade of an ivory nut palm 
the voices of the howling monkeys came to his ear. 

[39] 



HALF-TRUE STORIES , > ‘ 

“There are those horrid hairy little boys again,” cried 
he. “I’d rather have cold toes than stay in such a 
place,” and that very night he started for the deep 
blue sea. 


[40] 


CHUCKY AND MISS FLEA 

HE woodchucks all go to bed very 
early—early in October, you know. 
Ever since Time began—which was 
on a Monday—the Wise Men have 
bieen wondering why, and they have 
never even guessed the reason. Some 
of them—the wisest—have said that 
it was due to the bite of the orful 
blue-bottle fly; others that it was 
the deadly snooze bacillus. But the 
fact is they go to sleep because they are sleepy—simply 
and solely and wholly because they are sleepy. Time 
began on a Monday at one o’clock—it had to be one 
o’clock, of course—and the woodchucks have been 
sleepy from that day to this. They NEVER take any¬ 
thing to put them to sleep, like calomel, or chloro¬ 
form, or catnip. The hardest thing 3 woodchuck has 
to do is to keep awake. 

Now Mr. Woodchuck had a boy named Chuck which 
is English for Ah-kuk-wah-djees. He called him Chucky 
for short. Along in March Mr. Woodchuck used to 
give Chucky a poke and say, “Wake up, Chucky, my 
Boy. It’s most April.” And Chucky would answer, 
“Yezir,” and turn over and go to sleep again. Then 
his very fat pa would give him a harder poke and bite 
his left ear-—“Come sir! Get up!” and Chucky would 
unroll himself and crawl out of bed. 

Chucky had no manners. Woodchucks never have 
any manners; they have only customs. One of Chucky’s 

[ 41 ] 








HALF-TRUE STORIES 


customs was,_ to eat with his fingers. When he was 
quite-a-small-boy he used to sit up on his hind legs 
and stuff red clover into his mouth the way he had seen 
his very fat Pa and his equally fat Grand-pa do—very 
respectable woodchucks they were, too. Chucky never 
went to school. His Pa taught him all he knew. Of 
course he never taught him manners because he hadn’t 
any himself, but he did teach him LOTS of customs. 
.Chucky never studied grammar either. He always 
said “hain’t” for “ain’t” and “gosh” for “gee,” just 
the way his very fat Pa did. 

But Chucky was a good boy, though he had no 
manners and lots of customs and always said “gosh” 
for “gee,” and his Pa was fond of him in his peculiar 
way. He was a-dutiful-and-obedient son and so-good- 
and-everything and always minded his very fat Pa. But 
he hated to get up in the morning and this troubled 
Mr. Woodchuck for HE always got up in March for 
breakfast, while it was all he could do to get Chucky 
up by April. 

Chucky was always wondering; it was one of his 
customs. He wondered why his Pa was so fat. He 
wondered why the sun didn’t shine at night; and he 
wondered why everybody else was in such a hurry 
when he liked to sit in the sun and wonder—and while 
he was wondering he always fell asleep. 

“Chucky, my boy, get up!” said his very fat Pa 
one morning in March when Chucky was quite-a-big- 
boy and had wondered about everything twice. 

[ 42 ] 







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CHUCKY AND MISS FLEA 

“I wonder what time it is,” said Chucky, who was 
rolled into a ball with his tail over his nose. 

“It’s time for you to get up—that’s what time it 
is,” his Pa said. 

“I wonder why,” said Chucky and his very fat Pa 
bit his ear real hard and Chucky unrolled himself. 

Chucky’s bed room was a dark hole and wh,en he 
waddled out he just naturally sat in the bright sun¬ 
shine and blinked. He blinked so hard he didn’t see 
Mr. Dog coming that way, but Mr. Dog saw him and 
grabbed him. That very instant Mr. Woodchuck looked 
out of the other door and when he saw Mr. Dog grab 
Chucky he made a noise that was something like a 
fife and a little like a steam whistle and not exactly 
like either, but it was so sharp and sudden that it 
made Mr. Dog jump clean up in the air, and of course 
he dropped Chucky who scuttled into his hole. When 
Mr. Dog came down there wasn’t a woodchuck in sight. 

Now there was a lady flea—a well bred flea—who 
always went with Mr. Dog on his travels and always 
staid with him when he was at home. That flea was 
THAT fond of Mr. Dog. It happened that when he 
grabbed Chucky this highly bred flea, so particular in 
her tastes, was having a light luncheon on Mr. Dog’s 
chocolate-colored nose, for she often took a bite when 
travelling, just to keep up her strength. When Mr. 
Dog jumped clean up in the air in that scandalous 
fashion, Miss Flea was disturbed at her luncheon and, 

[ 45 ] 




HALF-TRUE STORIES 

being a nervous and excitable person, she hopped too, 
and landed on Chucky as he scuttled into his hole. 

“Goodness me,” cried Miss Flea, “where am I?” 
and she picked up her front feet—being a well-bred 
flea and amazing particular in her taste; she picked up 
her front feet daintily and looked about her. Of 
course, as it was dark as a pocket there was nothing 
to be seen, but Miss Flea FELT very much out of place. 
She had been accustomed all her life to only the-very- 
best-society. 

“Who is this vulgar creature, I’d like to know?” 
she asked, holding up her front feet very high, “and, 
how long is it going to stay here in the dark?” 

But Chucky lay there a long time wondering why 
Mr. Dog had behaved in that scandalous fashion. You 
see he was too young to understand Mr. Dog’s peculiar 
customs but he learned something about them then, 
and his very stout Pa came in and scolded him for not 
looking where he was going and taught him some more. 
And Chucky sat still and wondered till he fell asleep. 

Miss Flea, being a nervous creature, began to get 
fidgety. She was afraid of losing herself there in the 
dark, so she sat still as long as she could and then 
hopped about a little, but she was careful to stick to 
Chucky. 

“I wish I knew who this horrid creature is,” said 
she, “I do miss dear Mr. Dog so, I just could cry.” 

Lunch time came but Chucky was still asleep and 
[ 46 ] 


CHUCKY AND MISS FLEA 

Miss Flea decided she must have a bite to eat, just to 
keep up her strength. 

“For if I don’t,” said she, “I’ll never be able to get 
out of this place.” So she arranged her feet very 
daintily and sat down to lunch in the dark—and it 
was very dark. 

“Goodness, what a horrid lunch,” said Miss Flea. 
“It’s really not fit to eat,” and she felt more like crying 
than ever. 

Chucky did not wake up for several days, when his 
very fat pa got after him and he waddled into the 
sunshine. 

Miss Flea was delighted to get out of that dark 
hole. She hopped off onto the ground and looked at 
Chucky while he sat up and stuffed red clover into his 
mouth according to his custom. 

“Yes,” she said, “it’s woodchuck—woodchuck! 
Bah!! But I suppose I will have to stand it until I can 
do better. O, I do wish dear Mr. Dog would come back.” 

All that summer Chucky did not go far from his 
hole—only far enough to get some clover, and then he 
would scuttle back to the mound in front of the hole 
where he would sit and take a nap in the sun with one 
eye open. He always kept one eye open now; that being 
a new custom he had learned. 

Every time Miss Flea had a bite to keep up her 
strength Chucky said “Gosh!” (meaning Gee!) “I 
wonder what that is.” 

And though Miss Flea had lunch very often and 
[ 47 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

used to eat between meals, she grew thinner and thin¬ 
ner and was very low in the mind. 

One day in October Ghucky felt so sleepy that he 
went in and went to bed. The weather was mild and 
scroobious but that boy rolled himself up into a ball 
and dropped to sleep, and being such a dutiful-and- 
obedient-son and so-good-and-everything, his very fat 
Pa let him sleep and very soon went to bed himself. 

When she lived with Mr. Dog, Miss Flea had been 
a great traveller; now she had to settle down to a quiet 
life. She waited and waited for Chucky to wake up 
and every day she grew more nervous. She fussed and 
she fidgeted, she danced and she pranced, she lunched 
and she munched, but Chucky only scratched his nose 
in his sleep and the snow came and covered up the hole 
and buried them both for the winter. 

“Woodchuck! nothing but woodchuck, morning, 
noon and night,” groaned Miss Flea as she hopped 
about in the dark. “O, dear Mr. Dog, if you were here 
I could just eat you! I’ve always had the very best 
and here I am in a nasty cheap boarding-house.” 

Chucky slept from October till March, that being 
one of his customs, but Miss Flea was too fidgety to 
sleep. There she was shut up in the dark and she 
couldn’t get out, and she wouldn’t have known where 
to go if she had, or where to stop for lunch. She was 
a timid little thing and if she had had to go without 
her lunch it would have made her positively ill and 
as-faint-as-she-could-be. 


[48] 



CHUCKY AND MISS FLEA 
She did not lift up her front feet daintily any more 
and she grew very untidy, living there all alone in the 
dark. Her eyes were red and her hair all frouzly— 
O turrible frouzly—and she looked frumpish and had 
a real boarding-house air. She said that when Chucky 
woke up she would go and look for Mr. Dog and keep 
house again the way she was accustomed to. 

But when Chucky’s very fat Pa called him in 
March and Chucky waddled out of his hole, Miss Flea 
just took a bite to keep up her strength and decided 
she would wait until summer. You see, she had the 
boarding-house habit and her hair staid frouzly and 
she always talked about the way she used to live and 
said that she couldn’t stand this any longer and next 
summer she would surely move. 

Well, Chucky was quite-a-man now but every time 
Miss Flea had lunch he would say “Gosh!” (fneaning 
Gee!) “I wonder what that is.” 


[49] 


A MIDSUMMER NIGHT 


OW these are the people who live in 
the Middle-of-the-Woods, who sleep 
by day and wake by night, and 
their ways are not as our ways. 
Verily, their ways are not as our 
ways. 

There is Mrs. Screech Owl with 
a universal 1 joint in her neck, who 
looks straight ahead over the middle 
of her back and emits exceeding 
melancholy yawps. And Miss Whip-poor-will who 
perches on a limb lengthwise instead of crosswise, just 
to be contrarywise, and who flits in the grouzly dusk. 
There is little Mr. Brown Bat, who hangs by his heels 
all day long and looks like an imp of Satan. Not to 
mention Miss Deer Mouse who lives in a tree, has long 
ears and large expressive eyes and who warbles, the 
only musician in her family and not appreciated; to 
say nothing of All-the-Fireflies; not forgetting Miss 
Moth—she of the long tongue—or the White Cricket. 

At precisely the same time All-the-Fireflies lit their 
self-regulating phosphorescent lamps and flitted 
through the woods. 

“There’s Miss Mouse,” cried they, “we really 
ought to ask her to sing.” 

“O do sing to us, Miss Mouse,” said All-the-Fire¬ 
flies to Miss Deer Mouse who was sitting at her front 
door in a hickory tree. “DO sing for us.” 

“Te-he! I haven’t my music with me,” tittered 
[ 50 ] 






A MIDSUMMER NIGHT 


Miss Mouse, “and really—te-he!—te-he! I have such 
a cold! and I haven’t practised for days.” 

“O Miss Mouse just some little thing you know— 
without your notes.” 

“Te-he! Te-he!” tittered Miss Mouse, “it’s really 
so damp this evening and I’m a little hoarse, but—” 
and Miss Mouse cleared her throat, rolled her eyes 
and twittered in a high key. 

Then All-the-Fireflies thanked Miss Mouse most 
fervently and said they’d never enjoyed anything so 
much, and that she was so-good-and-everything and 
sang so easily and had such a sweet voice. 

“They don’t know one note from another,” said 
Miss Mouse as All-the-Fireflies flew away and she 
watched the self-regulating phosphorescent lamps twin¬ 
kling in the dusk. “There never was any music in that 
family. All they think about is carrying those ever¬ 
lasting lights around. ’Stravagant things! Just think 
of the waste.” 

“Look at Mrs. June Beetle,” cried All-the-Fire¬ 
flies. “That woman’s always gadding about. Why 
doesn’t she stay at home and look after her daughters. 
Poor things! They are SO plain.” 

Presently Miss Moth—she of the long tongue— 
came humming softly over the huckleberries and rose¬ 
bushes. Miss Moth is an elfy creature. Her wings 
are long and furry and soft and they hum as she flits 
in the twilight. She never goes out in the daytime, 
for she would be lonesome, and she has never looked 

[51] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

at the sun. So she sleeps under the leaves and dreams 
of the flowers that bloom in the night—folds her wings 
and dreams all day. 

It is entirely owing to a sweet tooth—a family 
failing—that Miss Moth is so fond of these flowers; 
for way down in the bottom of ’em, where Miss Black 
Ant can’t get at it, they keep a drop of sweet for her, 
not exactly honey, nor syrup, nor yet jam, but some¬ 
thing very like these. Now this is much the same as 
a drop at the bottom of a bottle and it takes a very 
long tongue to reach it. Miss Moth has been reaching 
it for so long—in the person of her ancestors—that her 
tongue has grown and grown until now she has to coil 
it up when she flies about. When she comes to a 
flower she unwinds her tongue and lets it down to the 
bottom. 

Miss Moth was flitting hither and thither and 
sniffing for flowers. She can smell those little syrup 
jugs and jam pots and honey jars afar off, but her 
sniffer works only at night. Before long she smelled 
something sweet and her tongue began to unwind of 
itself. It was the evening primrose at the Edge-of-the- 
Woods. The primroses were waiting for Miss Moth and 
she let down her tongue to the bottom of each flower 
as she hummed above it. Miss Whip-poor-will was 
swooping through the air in big swoops and little Mr. 
Brown Bat, who strongly resembles Satan, was flutter¬ 
ing above the tree tops. 

As Miss Moth was sucking up drop after drop from 
[ 52 ] 




“ ‘Let’s see!’ said the firefly, turning his 
lamp on Miss Moth. ‘Why, you’ll tie 
another knot in it if you aren’t careful. 
You should have had a light.’ ” 


















































A MIDSUMMER NIGHT 


the evening primroses the Imp of Satan flew past and 
gave her an impish stare. At the same time Mrs. 
Screech Owl delivered herself of an exceeding melan¬ 
choly yawp. Miss Moth was so startled that as she 
pulled her tongue hastily from the bottom of a 
primrose she tied it in a knot. Darting to the nearest 
pine tree, she clung to the bark while she tried with 
her front feet to untie the knot. She twisted and 
turned and twiddled her tongue but this only tied the 
knot tighter. By this time it was so dark she couldn’t 
see what she was doing, and of course not even a brachi- 
opod could untie a knot in the dark. 

Miss Moth was all out of breath when along came 
a firefly with his self-regulating phosphorescent lamp 
and spied her twiddling her tongue and holding on to 
it with her front feet, as if she was playing on a little 
flute. 

“Why, Miss Moth, what are you doing?” asked the 
firefly. 

“Tongueth tiedth in knod and canth ged id oud,” 
said Miss Moth wriggling away. 

“Let’s see!” said the firefly, turning his lamp on 
Miss Moth. “Why, you’ll tie another knot in it if 
you aren’t careful. You should have had a light. Go 
slow now and look what you are doing and you can get 
it out.” 

So the firefly sat there most civil and held a light 
while Miss Moth unravelled her tongue, which she 
finally did after much wriggling and twisting. 

[55] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


“What a time I’ve had,” said she, stretching her 
tongue to rest it. “How could such a thing ever have 
happened?” 

“Well, you’ll feel better now,” said the firefly, and 
he flew away to tell All-the-Fireflies how Miss Moth had 
tied a knot in her tongue. 

But All-the-Fireflies were too excited to listen. 
“That perfectly horrid Screech Owl woman is eating 
Mrs. June Beetle!” cried they as they hurried to have a 
last look. Mrs. Screech Owl was sitting on a stump and 
gulping something down. 

“Isn’t it perfectly horrid!” cried All-the-Fireflies. 
“And what table manners!” 

“Mrs. June Beetle was a good mother,” said the 
^ White Cricket softly. 

“Just what we’ve always thought,” cried All-the- 
Fireflies. 

“So patient!” said the White Cricket as Mrs. Screech 
Owl gave another gulp. 

“So patient!” sobbed All-the-Fireflies. 

“Six daughters!” said the White Cricket. 

“And all so plain,” All-the-Fireflies sobbed! 

“What will become of them?” the White Cricket 
went on, as Mrs. Screech Owl gulped again. 

“Poor things—such bad complexions,” murmured 
All - the - Fireflies. 

Just then Mrs. Screech Owl gave a final gulp, after 
which she delivered herself of an exceeding melancholy 
yawp and stared savagely at All-the-Fireflies who put 

[56] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT 

out their lamps and disappeared in the inky blackness, 
while the White Cricket crept under a leaf and very 
soon began playing on its little fiddle. 

“Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor 
will!” cried a voice. 

“Always practising exercises,” said Miss Deer Mouse 
from her doorway. “Why doesn’t she learn a new 
piece?” and Miss Deer Mouse rolled her eyes and twit¬ 
tered a few high notes. 

“Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! Whip - poor 
will!” went the voice. 

“Cr-r-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r- 
r-r-r-oa-k!” 

“Whip - poor - will! Whip - poor - will! Whip - poor 
will!” 

The air was still and sizzling hot. All-the-Fireflies 
lit their self-regulating phosphorescent lamps again 
and flitted through the woods. “Everybody’s out to¬ 
night,” said they. “Isn’t it comfy and hot?” 

“And so muggy,” said the White Cricket dreamily. 
“It’s perfect. How the late Mrs. Beetle would have 
enjoyed this.” 

“Just what we were saying,” cried All-the-Fireflies. 

“Cr-r-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r- 
r-r-r-oa-k!” 

“That young tree frog is always trying to frighten 
folks,” said Miss Deer Mouse from her doorway. “What 
can be the matter with him now.” 

[ 57 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“Cr-r-r-r-r-r r oa-k! Cr-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r-r- 
r-oa-k!” 

“So comfy and hot!” cried All-the-Fireflies and the 
thousand-and-one-lamps twinkled in the pitchy-black 
woods while the White Cricket played softly on his 
fiddle and the Imp-of-Satan fluttered above the tree 
tops. 

It was at that precise moment that all the leaves 
were heard to shiver. 

“Cr-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r-r-r-oa-k! Cr-r-r-r-r- 
r-oa-k! 

“I believe something IS going to happen,” cried 
Miss Mouse—and then a blinkety-bright flash made the 
dark woods as light as day and left them pitchy-blacker 
than ever. In that instant Miss Deer Mouse saw the 
Imp-of-Satan fluttering in front of her doorway and 
it seemed to her that his face wore a fiendish grin. 
All-the-Fireflies put out their lamps and hid themselves. 
Miss Whip-poor-will stopped practising her exercises 
and the White Cricket was silent. 

When the blinkety-bright flash came, Miss Deer 
Mouse had run into her house and she sat rubbing her 
little hands over her very-white front—she is of a beauti¬ 
ful fawn color with a spick and span white front, “It’s 
my nerves,” said she and she began to squeak in a very 
high key—E minor it must have been—and she squeaked 
PIZZICATO AGITATO. Miss Deer Mouse was growing 
hysterical. 

Blinkety-bright and then pitchy-black it was and 
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A MIDSUMMER NIGHT 

the leaves shivered again. And then—and then—the 
Thunder Devil began to roar and to make ear-splitting 
noises that rumbled over the sky. And with the roaring 
of the Thunder Devil came the blinkety-bright flashes 
with jaggedy-raggedy edges and ripped up the sky from 
top to bottom, and even the Imp-of-Satan hid himself 
in the hollow of a tree and hung by his heels in token of 
submission. For in the Middle-of-the-Woods none 
dare speak when the Thunder Devil roars. 

Now while the ear-splitting noises of the Thunder 
Devil rumbled over the sky the Great-and-Good Rain 
God awoke and rubbed his eyes. 

“That pernickity little Thunder Devil has got the 
tantrums again,” said he. “First thing I know he will 
set fire to the Middle-of-the-Woods.” And with that 
he squeezed a cloud or two in his-own-inimitable-man- 
ner and there was the heaviest rainfall in thirty years, 
and all the oldest inhabitants were soaked to the skin. 

“That’ll fix it,” said the Great-and-Good Rain God, 
and he put on his night cap and went to sleep again, 
while the water dripped from the leaves and bubbled 
up from the ground. 

When the Thunder Devil saw that the Rain God 
had squeezed the clouds in his-own-inimitable-manner 
he went off, roaring in the distance as he went. As he 
reached the Edge-of-the-Woods he turned and gave one 
last roar that rumbled over the sky and made the 
dishes rattle; and then—and then—a blinkety-bright 
flash with jaggedy-raggedy edges came out of a corner 

[ 61 ] 




HALF-TRUE STORIES 

and slid down Miss Mouse’s hickory tree into the ground 
with a noise like the crash of a thousand cymbals and 
the boom of the big bass drums. 

Mrs. Screech Owl, staring savagely into the inky- 
blackness with her huge yellow eyes, saw a white little 
figure with large ears and a long tail leap into the air, 
and she swooped for it on her long velvet wings—and 
missed. 

Sitting on a stump Mrs. Screech Owl delivered her¬ 
self of an exceeding melancholy yawp. The Imp-of- 
Satan came out of his hollow tree and fluttered above 
the tree-tops, and one by one All-the-Fireflies lit their 
self-regulating phosphorescent lamps. But Miss Deer 
Mouse crbuched in the grass and rubbed her little 
hands over her very-white front. “It must be my 
nerves,” said she. 





MISS MOLE’S COLD 

LD Miss Mole lived by herself in the 
house she was born in and had 
symptoms. She was afraid of fresh 
air, she loved the dark and her 
house just suited her. 

“I’ve taken cold again,” said Miss 
Mole one morning. “There must 
be some fresh air in this house. I 
wonder how it got in?” So she 
greased her nose and went to bed. 

As she lay there and snuffled in the dark, Uncle 
Hop Toad came shuffling along. 

“Why, Miss Mole, you have a cold in your head,” 
said he. 

“Guess I know it,” snapped Miss Mole. 

“Ain’t you doing anything for it?” 

“Yes I am, I greased my nose.” 

“You ought to take catnip for that, Miss Mole, 
before it gets to be chronic.” 

Uncle Hop Toad talked just as if he knew what he 
was talking about and Miss Mole believed him and de¬ 
cided to take catnip. So she took catnip and greased 
her nose again. 

Then she lay there and sneezed in the dark, till Miss 
Meadow Mouse heard her and ran in to see what was the 
matter. 

“Why, Miss Mole, you HAVE got a cold,” said she. 
“You should do something for it right off.” 

[63] 








HALF-TRUE STORIES 


“I’ve greased my nose and I’m taking catnip,” said 
Miss Mole. 

“DON’T take catnip, Miss Mole. I had a cousin, 
—second cousin she was—took catnip and her hair all 
came out. Nobody takes catnip nowadays. Tansy is 
the only thing for you—there’s nothing like it.” 

So Miss Mole took tansy, greased her nose and went 
to bed again. 

“I believe my cold’s getting worse,” said she, “it 
feels chronicky.” And she snuffled and sneezed till 
Mr. Centipede heard her and went to see what was the 
trouble. 

“Miss Mole, YOU’VE taken cold,” said Mr. Centi¬ 
pede. “You need a mint julep.” 

“I’ve taken catnip, and I’ve stopped taking catnip, 
and I’ve taken tansy and I’ve greased my nose,” said 
Miss Mole, “and I’ve got the snuffles worse than ever. 
—What makes you limp so, Mr. Centipede?” 

“Rheumatism in my legs.” 

“Which legs, Mr. Centipede?” 

“Fourteenth, twenty-second, thirty-third, and the 
last forty-six pairs.” 

“Dear me, it must be an epidemic,” said Miss Mole. 
“I hope I won’t catch it.” 

So Miss Mole took a mint julep, which is the most 
ancient remedy for colds and was used in the Ark, 
greased her nose and staid in bed. 

And she snuffled and sneezed until Mr. Gray 
Squirrel, who was buryng a hickory nut, heard her 

[ 64 ] 


MISS MOLE’S COLD 

and scraped the roof off her house to see where the 
noise came from. 

“Haven’t you caught COLD, Miss Mole?’’ asked 
he as Miss Mole sneezed so that she blew a shower of 
dirt into the air. 

“Cold, you gump! I’ve caught measles and whoop¬ 
ing cough and the hookworm. Cover me up quick 
before I get anything else.’’ 

“Nonsense, Miss Mole! Stuff and nonsense! Fresh 
air is what you need. It’ll cure anything. It’s a great 
discovery.” 

“I haven’t heard about it,” said Miss Mole, “and 
what’s more, I don’t believe in these new fahgled ideas. 
My grandmother always said fresh air would give me 
chills. And I don’t want chills along with all the other 
things that’s the matter with me.” 

“Don’t you believe a word of it, Miss Mole. It’ll 
cure you and that’s the truth. My uncle’s second wife 
lost her tail and she took fresh air and her tail grew 
out again—at least it would have if she hadn’t —” 

“Ain’t it kind of poisonous?” asked Miss Mole. 

“Of course not. You’ll feel ever so much better 
if you try it, Miss Mole.” 

Mr. Gray Squirrel talked just as if he knew what 
he was talking about and Miss Mole almost believed 
what he said. So she greased her nose, came out of 
her house and took fresh air. 

“I’m dretful fraid I’m going to have a chill,” said 
she and she began to shiver. 

[651 



HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“How are you feeling today, Miss Mole?” asked 
Uncle Hop Toad when he saw Miss Mole sitting in the 
sun. 

“Poorly, thank you. I didn’t get a wink of sleep 
last night and my nose is all stuffed up and I’m dretful 
fraid I’m going to have a chill.” 

“Seems to me you’re looking a little thin,” said 
Uncle Hop Toad. “You oughtn’t to be out here in this 
air. You go home and take catnip.” 

“I did take some,” said Miss Mole, “and it didn’t 
do me any good.” 

“You didn’t take enough. You can’t expect to 
be cured in a minute. You must keep on taking it.” 

Presently Mr. Centipede came limping along. 

“Why, Miss Mole, what are you doing out here in 
this air?” 

“I’m trying the fresh air cure,” Miss Mole said, 
“but it hasn’t done me a bit of good.” 

“I thought you had more sense, Miss Mole. You 
go home as fast as you can go and take a mint julep.” 

“I did take one but it upset my stummick.” 

“Well of course you have to get used to it. But this 
air is the very worst thing for anyone with a delicate 
nose. Aren’t you looking a little thin, Miss Mole?” 

“Dear me! Do you think I am? How’s your rheu¬ 
matism, Mr. Centipede?” * 

“The fourteenth’s a little better, so is the thirty- 
third, but the last forty-six pairs pain me orful. It’s 

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MISS MOLE’S COLD 

the air.” And Mr. Centipede limped away and crawled 
under a rock. 

“I’m glad I haven’t so many legs,” said Miss Mole 
to herself. “It must be dretful when you get rheuma¬ 
tism to have so many aching all at once. Why don’t 
the mint julep cure him, I wonder?” 

Miss Mole sat still a long time and had about de¬ 
cided to have a chill when she heard a queer dry rustle 
in the leaves, like something walking on its turn. 

“I wonder what that is,” said she, but she couldn’t 
see anything for her eyes are so weak she can see the 
end of her nose only in very clear weather. 

The noise stopped and then began again and Miss 
Mole listened and tried not to snuffle. 

“I hear that you have taken a bad cold, Miss Mole,” 
said a mellifluous voice. 

“Yes I have and it hurts me to swallow, and I 
ache all over and I’m dretful fraid I’m going to have a 
chill. Who is it? I can’t see anybody.” 

“I’ll come a little nearer,” said the voice. “I 
think I know what’s the matter with you,—you’re 
anaemic.” 

“I’ve greased my nose and I’ve taken catnip, and 
I’ve stopped taking catnip, and I’ve taken tansy and— 
let me see, I took a mint julep, and now I’m trying fresh 
air and I don’t feet a bit better.” 

“Won’t do you any good if you’re anaemic,” said 
the voice, coming nearer. “Now I can cure you. Miss 

[69] 




HALF-TRUE STORIES 

\ 

Mole. I’ve cured a good many colds and they always 
stay cured.” 

“I ain’t going to take any more medicine—it upsets 
my stummick.” 

“Medicine won’t do any good in a case like yours, 
Miss Mole. All you need is rest and nourishing food. 
I’ll just come a little nearer so you can hear me.” 

“O I can hear you very well,” said Miss Mole— 
and these were her last words on earth, for in another 
minute she was going down Mr. Black Snake head 
first, and her nose being greased, she slipped down 
quite easily. 

“Do stop snuffling and blow your nose,” said Mr. 
Black Snake when he heard her snuffling on the way 
down. And then the snuffles died away in the distance. 
Miss Mole’s cold was cured. 


[ 70 ] 


THE CHICKADEE FAMILY 

EAR the pond is a small wee stub 
of a tree with a small wee hole in 
the heart of it, and in that small 
wee hole Mrs. Chickadee bulit a nest, 
soft and comfy and very stuffy, 
laid her eggs—five in all—and sat 
on the five spiny and spiderish 
things that came out of them until 
they changed into chickadees. 
Then Mr. Chickadee came and 
helped feed them. Their mouths were always open 
and their appetites were chronic and prodijjus. Mr. 
Chickadee hunted on the bark of the red oak tree, he 
hunted on the branches of the white pine tree, and he 
hunted on the twigs of the blue beech tree; he hunted 
the juniper, he hunted the shadbush and he hunted 
under the leaves of the high blueberry. And he brought 
green grubs and grouzly worms in dozens and scores 
and hundreds; but the mouths were always open and 
the appetites were chronic and prodijjus. All day long 
he jabbed green grubs into those yellow beaks. He 
filled those children’s tummies; he filled their necks; 
he crammed them up to the eyes. Then he sat on the 
edge of the stump to rest for a minute. 

“Why don’t you feed your children?” called Mrs. 
Chickadee with her mouth full of worms. “Do you 
want them to starve?” 

“Starve!” said Mr. Chickadee, “why, my dear, if 
they swallow another worm they’ll choke.” 

[71] 



\ 


y 






HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“O don’t make excuses, go and get them something 
to eat at once.” 

Mr. Chickadee ruffled up his feathers, scraped his 
bill and looked as if he wouldn’t go—and then he went. 

He hunted the leaves of the red maple tree, he 
hunted the trunk of the white ash, and he hunted the 
bark of the yellow birch tree; he hunted the sumac, he 
hunted the bayberry, he hunted the flowers of the 
hobble bush and he brought gruesome grubs and 
crinky crawly hijjus caterpillars of a sickly green hue. 
He crammed those children till they couldn’t see. He 
stuffed them till their eyes bulged out. He jammed 
them so full that their mouths wouldn’t shut. 

“That’s right,” Mrs. Chickadee said. “Now go 
and get them something more to eat; they’re hungry.” 

“Hungry!” cried Mr. Chickadee. “Hungry! Look 
at them. Their mouths won’t shut, their eyes are bulg¬ 
ing out; they are going to burst!” 

“I wish you weren’t so lazy. Growing children 
need nourishing food and plenty of it.” 

So Mr. Chickadee hunted the sassafras tree, he 
hunted the sour gum tree, he hunted the sycamore and 
he brought spider’s eggs and wooly plant lice and filled 
up the chinks in those children’s insides till they were 
air-tight and water-tight. Then he went off where 
Mrs. Chickadee wouldn’t see him and ate an egg him¬ 
self and two wooly bugs. 

“That tasted like a fresh egg,” said he to himself 
[72] 



THE CHICKADEE FAMILY 

as he scraped his bill on a twig. “I’ll have another.” 
Then he ate several more bugs—cousins they were and 
very wooly. 

“If you could skin those bugs, they’d taste better. 
But I’d rather have eggs—or green ones. There’s no 
sense in a bug with feathers. If I had just one green 
worm—a juicy fat one,” and he started to look for a 
creepy, crinkly, hijjus caterpillar, when he heard the 
voice of Mrs. Chickadee. Mrs. Chickadee was in a 
turrible rage. 

“Now, what’s the matter?” said Mr. Chickadee. 
“They can’t be hungry again.” 

But he felt that something was wrong, and then 
he heard Mrs. Chickadee making queer and outlandish 
noises and he knew what the trouble was. His small 
wee heart thumped against his small wee ribs as he 
flew to the nest. 

Mrs. Chickadee was fluttering on the ground and 
trailing one wing in the dirt as if it were broken, while 
in front of the stump, his wicious black head swaying 
to and fro, his little forked tongue trembling in the 
air, was Mr. Blacksnake. This altogether atrocious 
serpent hears with his tongue, and he was listening; 
also he was hungry. 

When Mr. Chickadee saw Mr. Blacksnake his 
feathers stood up straight all over him, which made 
him look like a ball, and every feather was mad. This 
mad ball of feathers flung itself at Mr. Blacksnake. 
Now that unspeakable reptile has a turrible temper 

[73] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

and he shook his black tail so fast that you couldn’t 
tell where it was; he shook it so fast that it made a grey 
blur in the air. And he hissed like EVERYTHING and 
struck at the mad ball of feathers with his wicious 
black head and the mad ball of feathers, which was 
Mr. Chickadee, kept pecking at his sinful eyes. 

But Mr. Chickadee was small and Mr. Blacksnake 
was large, and it came to pass that Mr. Chickadee grew 
weary and his neck ached and his wings ached and his 
little black eyes ached and he could hardly flutter any 
longer in front of Mr. Blacksnake. But that lean-, 
and-hungry serpent never grew tired at all. 

When Mrs. Chickadee saw that Mr. Chickadee’s 
strength was failing she flopped in front of Mr. Black¬ 
snake and trailed her wings and made all the strange 
noises she could think of, and some she had never 
thought of before, and Mr. Blacksnake took his orful 
eyes from Mr. Chickadee and let them fall on her like 
a cold draft or an evil smell. Then Mr. Chickadee 
fluttered to a bush for he was all in, and his head went 
round and his small wee heart beat against his small 
wee ribs like a steam hammer. And while he rested, 
Mrs. Chickadee flopped and hopped before Mr. Black¬ 
snake and that horrid reptile watched but he never 
moved from the stump, till at last Mrs. Chickadee lost 
her wind and HER head went round and her small 
wee heart beat against her small wee ribs. 

Seeing this, Mr. Chickadee flew into a just rage and 
hurled himself at Mr. Blacksnake again, pecking at 
[74] 













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THE CHICKADEE FAMILY 

his eyes while Mr. Blacksnake took a mouthful of 
feathers and his tail made a grey blur in the air. But 
Mr. Chickadee was very tired and his small wee heart 
was thumping so that he could only feebly peck at the 
sinful eyes, so Mrs. Chickadee once more flopped and 
made strange noises. Now SHE was growing feeble 
and it looked sad and glummish for the Chickadees, 
for their heads ached and their wings ached and their 
little tummies were empty. 

Mr. Blacksnake saw and was pleased and his stony 
eyes fell upon them both like a cold draft or an evil 
smell, and for a moment his tail lay still upon the 
ground. 

You could have heard a pin-feather drop—while 
Mr. Blacksnake’s long thin tongue darted out and 
trembled like a little flickering flame. He was listening. 
Suddenly from across the pond came the deep down 
voice of Mr. Dog. Mr. Dog was running with his nose 
to the ground on the trail of Little Bun. 

When Mr. Blacksnake heard Mr. Dog his tail made 
a blur in the air AND he began to strike at the stump 
in the most perfectly hijjus and ferociable manner. 

Mr. Dog saw Mr. Blacksnake and growled and 

snarled a turrible snarl, like this: G-r-r-r-r-h!!!- 

a-r-r-r-r-r-a-hh!!! Then he jumped on Mr. Blacksnake 
and gave him spinal trouble on top and tummy trouble 
underneath by reason of being squoze orful. And Mr. 
Blacksnake punctured him in his chocolate nose with 
his long, thin and exceeding sharp teeth, just to show 

[77] 



HALF-TRUE STORIES 

How HE felt] about it. For awhile you couldn’t tell 
which was dog and which was snake and Mr. Black- 
snake got more spinal trouble in his back and Mr. Dog 
more punctures in his chocolate nose. Mr. and Mrs. 
Chickadee were too excited to talk, so they just held 
on by their toes and watched the scrap, AND the five 
children nearly expired by reason of their chronic and 
prodijjus appetites. 

Mr. Blacksnake was so long and thin and slippery 
and snakery and whipped himself about in such a very 
straordinary fashion that Mr. Dog couldn’t hold him 
down; and Mr. Dog was so powerful-big that Mr. Black- 
snake just longed for a change of air and his spinal 
trouble hurt him orful. The very first chance he had 
he put another puncture in Mr. Dog’s chocolate nose 
which most let the wind out of Mr. Dog and then he 
whipped himself out from under his paws and left that 
locality like a long thin streak of lightning—he felt so 
much in need of a change. 

Mr. Dog wiped the punctures in his chocolate nose 
most carefully with his large hairy paws and took up 
the trail of the rabbit; while from that small wee hole 
in that small wee stub of a tree came five distinct cries 
for help from five absolutely empty children. 

So Mr. Chickadee hunted the bark of the blue beech 
tree, he hunted the leaves of the white oak tree, he 
hunted the branches of the black ash tree, and he 
brought gruesome grubs and creepy, crawly hij jus cater¬ 
pillars. He brought them in dozens, he brought them 

[78] 


» 


j 



THE CHICKADEE FAMILY 


in scores, he brought them in hundreds and jabbed 
them into those hollow children, till their necks were 
full, their eyes bulged out and their mouths wouldn’t 
shut. 


THE TAIL OF 
OLD MAN MUSKRAT 

LDj Man Muskrat had a tail that was 
flattish and he could swim under 
water like a fish. When he dove he 
used to hit the water a whack with 
his flattish tail that could be heard 
for exactly a mile, more or less,— 
BIFF!!! 

All his life he had lived in the 
pond; his grandfather had lived 
there and his great grandfather 
and all his other grandfathers, too numerous to men¬ 
tion. They ALL believed it was the best pond in Cre¬ 
ation and the cleanest and most sloobrious; and they 
all believed that the muskrats that lived in other ponds 
were meaner than skunks, which of course they were. 

Old Man Muskrat and his grandfathers, too nu¬ 
merous to mention, had always had a house and garden 
in the pond. It was a squdgy garden and in the middle 
of it was a squdgy house—for that is the only kind that 
is damp enough for a muskrat. He must live where 
it is slippery and slushy and he can get his feet wet. 
All little muskrats are taught to get their feet wet so 
they won’t catch cold—and that is only common 
sense, you know. 

The door of this house was under water, so that the 
house was perfectly damp, and Old Man Muskrat used 
to leave this squdgy house by the perfectly damp door- 






THE TAIL OF OLD MAN MUSKRAT 

way and swim around over the oozy bottom of the pond, 
and paddle through the slushy-squshy cattails. 

In the squdgy garden he dug the roots of spatter- 
docks and while he dug for roots he would sometimes 
dig out Mr. Mussel, who lives in a blue shell at the 
bottom of the pond, and eat him raw, leaving his blue 
shell on the bank. 

He had built his house of roots and stems of things 
that grew in his squdgy garden, like spatterdock and 
cattail and arrowhead, and every year when the maples 
were red in" the swamp he patched up his house which 
looked like a small haystack. Then in the winter time 
he would eat the inside because, you see, being a rat¬ 
nosed flat-tailed quadruped, he had made it of things 
that were good to eat, and so he lived in it like a mouse 
in a cheese—only he was careful to keep his feet wet. 

Now, Old Man Muskrat was a great swimmer and 
he used to cavort about that pond in the most SENSA¬ 
TIONAL manner, which surprised Miss Mud Turtle 
and amazed young Mr. Water Snake and sfonished all 
the little fish. For he splashed and spattered and blew 
bubbles with his nose, and when he dove he hit the 
water with his tail that was flattish, a whack that could 
be heard just one mile—more or less— BIFF!!! 

On the evening of the fifth day of the Turtle moon 
he was splashing about and blowing bubbles in pre¬ 
cisely the manner referred to. The sky was cloudy and 
the wind due East. The general aspect of the pond 
was grouzly and that is to say, grizzible. In fact it was 

[ 81 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

glummish, and the more glummish it grew the better 
Old Man Muskrat liked it. He was blowing bubbles 
as I say, all alone in the dusk and feeling perfectly 
damp and comfy and just musing himself. 

At the same time Mr. Barred Owl was musing 
HIMself in the swamp and singing a little spring song 

like this: “WHOO—WHOO—WHOO ! .....WHOO— 

WHOO—! WHOO—AHHH ! ! ” Old Man Muskrat felt 
creepy in his spinal column when he heard Mr. Barred 
Owl singing his little spring song but it sounded just 
one mile away—more or less—that being the exact 
distance—so he went on musing himself. He climbed 
up the bank and dove into the pond and hit the water 
a slap with his flattish tail— BIFF!!! which was an error, 
a gregious error such as only a rat-nosed quadruped 
can make, for the wind was due East. 

When Mr. Barred Owl heard that slap of a flattish 
tail he slipped off the branch where he was singing his 
little spring song and flew through the woods with no 
more sound than a shadow would make. Old Man 
Muskrat couldn’t hear a shadow and of course he 
couldn’t hear a spook like Mr. Barred Owl. Neither 
did he see him, he was so busy musing himself—till 
Mr. Barred Owl flitted out of the dusk and caught the 
tip end of his tail as he was diving into the pond. Old 
Man Muskrat pulled and Mr. Barred Owl pulled like 
everything. Something had to happen, and it did— 
the tip of the tail came off. 

That was once. 


[ 82 ] 





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THE TAIL OF OLD MAN MUSKRAT 

It hurt Old Man Muskrat’s feelings to lose the tip 
of his tail like that and he stayed in his squdgy home 
in the squdgy garden till it mended itself, which it did 
—but it looked stumpy. Then he dove into the pond 
again and hit the water a whack with his stumpy tail— 
BIFF!!! that could be heard for half a mile. 

That was another gregious error. For Mr. Mink 
was prowling in the woods and when he heard that 
whack, just one-half a mile away, more or less—that 
being the exact distance—he glided through the bushes 
like a snake till he came to the pond. When he saw 
Old Man Muskrat cavorting and musing himself he 
slipped into the water behind him. 

Old Man Muskrat saw him just in time and dove, 
but Mr. Mink caught the tip of his stumpy tail. Old 
Man Muskrat pulled and Mr. Mink gnawed and the 
tip of the tail came off. 

That was twice. 

Old Man Muskrat went back to his squdgy house 
in his squdgy garden and stayed there till his tail 
mended again, which it did, but it was only a stump 
now. Then he yearned to hit the water once more 
with that stump; he just yearned to do it—and he did. 
He hit it a smack—biff!!!—that could be heard for a 
quarter of a mile, and this was still another gregious 
error such as a rat-nosed quadruped so frequently 
makes. 

For Mr. Fox was loping along and when he heard 
the sound of that tail, just one quarter of a mile away 

[ 85 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

—more or less—that being the exact distance—he crept 
down to the pond as quiet as a mouse and scouched in 
the grass. When Old Man Muskrat climbed up the 
bank he stayed just long enough to leave the stump of 
his tail in Mr. Fox’s mouth. 

That was three times. 

Old Man Muskrat felt naked and ashamed without 
his tail and thenceforth and forever after he stayed in 
his squdgy garden and dreamed of the good old days 
when he used to hit the water a slap with his tail— 
BIFF!!! that surprised Miss Mud Turtle and amazed 
young Mr. Water Snake and stonished all the little 
fish. 


[ 86 ] 


LITTLE BUN 


ITTLE BUN was a small child— a 
rabbit’s child, you know—but he 
was exceeding wise for one so young. 
He could see with his eyes and hear 
with his ears and smell with his 
nose. His nose was the wisest part 
of him: it knew everything that a 
nose can know, and it always wob- 
led. But he was just as lone as lone 
could be, this rabbit’s child. You 
see, he had had a dear Ma and Pa, but Mr. Fox had 
eaten them and he hadn’t left a hair. Bun never knew 
what had happened to them and, being a cocious child, 
he went on wobbling his nose and taking care of him¬ 
self. He had to wobble to keep from crying. If his 
dear Ma and Pa had wobbled their noses more they 
would have smelled Mr. Fox, and if they had smelled 
Mr. Fox their legs would just naturally have run away 
with them. 

Of course, Little Bun did cry some when he couldn’t 
find his Ma and Pa. He scouched down in the grass 
and the tears trickled down his cocious nose in a little 
stream that fell on Mr. Grasshopper, who was dozing 
among the leaves and thought it was raining. 

“It’s only a shower,” murmured Mr. Grasshopper, 
and he kicked out his legs and landed on a grass stem 
close to the cocious nose of Little Bun, down which a 
tear went trickle, trickle. 

[87] 










HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Grasshopper, “What’s the 
matter?” 

“I’ve lost my Ma and Pa,” sobbed Little Bun. 

“Never had any,” said Mr. Grasshopper. “What 
is it, anyhow?” 

“Never had any Ma and Pa?” asked Little Bun, 
sitting up and wobbling his nose. “Why what did 
you do when you were little?” 

“Just what I’m doing now, of course. Hopped 
around and enjoyed myself.” 

“Without any Ma and Pa?” 

“Never had such a thing,” said Mr. Grasshopper. 
“How do you make rain come out of your eyes like that? 
—I can’t do it.” 

“It just comes,” replied Little Bun. “Don’t you 
cry when you feel bad?” 

“Nope! I hop!” and with that Mr. Grasshopper 
hopped away—for his legs won’t stay still; even though 
his head settles down somewheres, his legs hop off 
with it. 

Little Bun sat there a long time wobbling his nose 
and wondering what he should do without his dear 
Ma and Pa. 

“Perhaps,” said he, thinking of Mr. Grasshopper, 
“I’d better hop.” 

Being a cocious child he looked at things in a 
cocious way. Though small for his age, he was old for 
his size. He might have been sitting there yet if his 
little turn hadn’t said it was hungry. When turn’s 

[ 88 ] 











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LITTLE BUN 


hungry, nose wobbles to see who’s prowling and nose 
is a great smeller. It can smell the wind changing 
and the grass growing. Bun could tell which way 
Mr. Fox was looking. Only a very cocious nose can 
do that. 

As nose smelled no fox looking that way, turn said to 
pats—hop! and pats hopped to where tender young 
things were growing and thereupon turn was fed. 

Little Bun being greatly refreshed wondered what 
he should do next, and pats said—Let us dance! So 
nose wobbled and having smelled no evil, pats began 
to caper. Front pats are twins and hind pats are 
twins, but the twins never dance together. One twin 
hind pat dances with one twin front pat, and t’other 
twin hind pat dances with t’other twin front pat and 
they have a most scrumptious time in a bunnyish way. 

And thereupon and thereafter this lone Little Bun 
danced by his lone little self by the light of the lonely 
moon. But always nose wobbled and Bun never danced 
if Mr. Fox was looking that way. 

His dear Ma and Pa had given Bun lessons in nib¬ 
bling and gnawing which are most important things 
for a rabbit’s child to learn. Every morning early Bun 
hopped in the cat-brier thicket where he lived and 
gnawed and ggnawed and gggnawed, merely for practise 
and to keep his teeth sharp. The trick was to cut the 
stems off clean and not prick his cocious nose on the 
thorns. After awhile he gnawed runways for himself all 
through the cat-briers. These runways were just big 

[91] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

enough for a small child and no dog could get through 
them at all. From the cat-briers they led to a brush 
heap near by where his bed was hidden so carefully no 
one but Miss Black Ant knew it was there. Even Mr. 
Fox didn’t suspect it, for he could never get through 
the cat-briers to follow the scent. 

Mr. Dog and Mr. Fox could smell Little Bun and 
Little Bun could smell Mr. Dog and Mr. Fox, but being 
a remarkably remarkable child, he always smelled them 
first. Mr. Dog had a dog-smell and Mr. Fox had a fox- 
smell and Little Bun had a rabbit-child’s smell and 
wherever they went they always took their smells 
with them, like their shadows, but they got loose in 
the air and went floating about; and that’s why their 
noses wobbled to see whose smell was coming. Of 
course, shadows never get loose in this way. 

At times the wind took Little Bun’s smell and 
carried it up in the air where Mr. Fox’s nose couldn’t 
get it, and again the rain spread it over the ground so 
he couldn’t tell where it came from. But when the 
wind was blowing from the right quarter it would take 
Little Bun’s smell straight to Mr. Fox’s nose, and some¬ 
times it took Mr. Fox’s smell and blew it to Little Bun’s 
nose where he was hiding in the brush pile, and when¬ 
ever that smell came floating around the cocious nose 
of Little Bun, his ears would lie flat. Then he would 
scouch down and just naturally frustrate Mr. Fox— 
indeed he would, he’d FRUStrate him. 

Now Mr. Fox knew that was a cocious rabbit’s 
[ 92 ]' 


LITTLE BUN 

child and he was so anxious for a taste of rabbit that 
he used to lie awake during .the day thinking about it. 
Having eaten Little Bun’s dear Ma and Pa he had a 
liking for the family. 

But Little Bun frustrated him—he did indeed, 
and it happened this way. That cocious child was 
dancing one evening and twin pats were having a most 
scrumptious time when nose caught the smell of 
Mr. Fox coming that way and, coming right after it, 
the smell of Mr. Dog. Little Bun knew that Mr. Fox 
was mighty anxious for a taste of rabbit and he knew 
Mr. Dog was equally anxious for a taste of fox, so he 
lay back his ears and wobbled his nose and did some 
thinking, bunnywise. 

Mr. Fox’s smell was coming fast and right after it 
was Mr. Dog’s smell, and it seemed as if Mr. Dog’s 
smell was coming a little faster than Mr. Fox’s. Soon 
Little Bun began to hear Mr. Dog’s big voice and he 
knew Mr. Fox must be near. So that rabbit’s child 
popped out of the briers and sat up as if he had come to 
take the air. But his ears were lying mighty flat. 
When he smelled exactly where Mr. Fox was he scuffled 
his pats a little and began to dance. 

Mr. Fox was loping along keeping about so far 
ahead of Mr. Dog, when his nose caught the smell of 
a rabbit’s child, and suddenly there was the child 
himself hopping around in the bushes. Mr. Fox licked 
his chops and his nose was so full of the smell of Little 
Bun that he forgot the smell of Mr. Dog. 

[ 93 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


Peeping out of the corner of his eye, Little Bun saw 
Mr. Fox creeping up, but he kept on dancing as if he 
was having a scrumptious time and didn’t know he 
was anywhere about, and Mr. Fox laughed to see that 
Bunny hop. 

While he was laughing to himself and creeping up 
to Little Bun, Mr. Dog’s smell came so close it froze 
his blood and made all the hairs of his back stand on 
end; and right after Mr. Dog’s smell came Mr. Dog 
himself. 

Little Bun saw Mr. Dog coming down the hill and 
scouched in the grass as if he was going to rest himself. 
That was the time when Mr. Dog just naturally lit on 
Mr. Fox and when he had his teeth in his throat he 
asked him most scroobious and polite, would he kindly 
allow him to have a taste of fox—but Mr. Fox was 
thinking of other things and never answered Mr. Dog. 

Mr. Dog had caught Mr. Fox near the cat-briers 
where Little Bun lived and now Mr. Fox was gone, 
but his smell hung around and made the rabbit’s child 
most uncomfy. It looked as if Mr. Fox had left his 
smell there to get even with Little Bun. 



[94] 


MR. DOG ACQUIRES 
KNOWLEDGE 

R. DOG was young and there were a 
few things that he didn’t know, but 
he didn’t know that he didn’t know 
them, and this is the really-truly 
truth. 

But as time went on, Mr. Dog 
acquired knowledge and learned 
some of the things that Little Bun 
had always known. Yes, he surely 
acquired knowledge and gained wis¬ 
dom, for it came to pass that Mr. Skunk and Old Man 
Porcupine gave him instruction, they did indeed; and 
he always remembered what they taught him and con¬ 
tinued greatly enlightened, and this also is the really- 
truly truth. 

Mr. Dog liked to prowl in the woods and frighten 
Little Bun and chase Mr. Squirrel’s children up a tree 
and talk with his big voice and let everybody know he 
was Mr. Dog and that those woods belonged to him. 
He was young, you see, and he didn’t know he had 
anything to learn. So he ran around all day with his 
nose to the ground and when somebody’s smell would 
come his way he’d holler as loud as he could—“I’m 
Mr. Dog!—Here I come! Look at me!’’ 

One day he smelled an entirely new smell and off 
he went through the woods hollering at the top of his 
lungs. Now that smell belonged to Old Man Porcupine, 

[ 95 ] 





HALF-TRUE STORIES 

who was rambling oyer a pile of rocks and enjoying 
himself. Old Man Porcupine moves very slowly and 
NEVER hurries. Pretty soon he heard Mr. Dog’s big 
voice down in the hollow. 

“There’s that fool dog,” said he, and went on en¬ 
joying himself as if he didn’t care anything about 
Mr. Dog. 

Mr. Dog came up on the run and he was as ex¬ 
cited as a bee in a tar bucket. When he saw Old Man 
Porcupine, if his skin hadn’t been sewed on tight he 
would have jumped clean out of it as he .started in to 
show him he was Mr. Dog. 

But Old Man Porcupine wasn’t interested. He 
never hurried and he was never excited. He merely 
looked at Mr. Dog and said—“Pooh!” like that, “Pooh!” 
and turned his back. 

When Mr. Dog sprang at him with his mouth open 
he just slapped his tail over Mr. Dog’s face—so, as if he 
was dusting it. 

“Go home, you fool pup! Go home to your Ma!” 
said he, as he ambled away over the pile of rocks. 

Mr. Dog’s face looked like a prickly pear or a paper 
of pins. His chocolate nose was stuck full of quills, 
his mouth was full of quills and every quill hurt him 
TURRIBLE. He whimpered and whined and he howled 
and he yelped, and then he put his tail between his 
legs and started for home. Every little while he had 
to stop and pull out some of those quills, and he rubbed 
his chocolate nose on the grass and rolled and scratched 

[96] 


MR. DOG ACQUIRES KNOWLEDGE 

and wiggled and squirmed till he wore the quills off 
his nose. But the ones in his mouth hurt him most 
particular because his mouth was so full it wouldn’t 
shut. 

So he ran through the woods yelping, and every¬ 
body knew something had happened to Mr. Dog and 
that it hurt him most particular. 

Old Man Porcupine heard him away off in the woods 
and he said—“Mr. Dog’s learned something today. 
Hear him saying his lesson.” 

And Little Bun popped his head out of his brush 
pile and called: “What’s the matter, Mr. Dog?” 

Then Mr. Chickadee hollered at him: “What’s 
happened, Mr. Dog?” 

But Mr. Dog’s mouth was so full of quills he 
couldn’t talk and every little while he had to lie down 
in the grass and chew those quills and scrape them 
with his paws; and so he chewed and scraped and 
chewed and scraped for three days and three nights 
till he got them out of his mouth. Then he went to 
the pond and cooled his face in the water, and as he 
sat there cooling himself and drinking the water and 
thinking about what he had learned, he found that he 
had acquired knowledge and was greatly enlightened 
on the subject of Mr. Porcupine. And he thought 
that surely now he knew everything there was to know. 

So it happened that when he was roaming through 
the woods and came across Mr. Skunk one day, he 
looked at Mr. Skunk’s tail and seeing it was not like 

[97] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

that of Old Man Porcupine, but a perfectly-harmless 
tail, he thought to himself that he would show Mr. 
Skunk that he was Mr. Dog. 

Mr. Skunk was teetering through the woods on his 
uncommonly short legs, hunting for beetles. He looked 
as innocent as a kitten and his tail was perfectly-harm- 
less. And this is the really-truly truth. 

So Mr. Dog lifted up his big voice— “I’m Mr. Dog! 
Here I come! Look at me!” 

Mr. Skunk heard him and went on teetering 
through the woods on his uncommonly short legs, 
looking for beetles. He was pulling the bark off of an 
old stump when Mr. Dog appeared, and just then he 
saw a large fat grubby beetle and he turned his back 
on Mr. Dog while he collected it. Then he looked 
over his shoulder in a most leisurely manner. 

Mr. Dog not knowing that he had anything more 
to learn, expected Mr. Skunk to climb a tree like any 
other cat, and when Mr. Skunk looked at him in this 
leisurely fashion he was stonished—stonished. And 
right then and there Mr. Dog acquired knowledge and 
gained wisdom and was greatly enlightened on the 
subject of Mr. Skunk. 

For when he went to take Mr. Skunk’s skin without 
asking his leave, Mr. Skunk just smiled and said most 
leisurely: “Wait a minute, Mr. Dog! Here’s some¬ 
thing for you,” and handed him some perfumery of a 
special kind that’s made for Mr. Skunk. 

Mr. Dog was iti such a hurry that he got it in his 
















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MR. DOG ACQUIRES KNOWLEDGE 

eyes and up his nose and it made him holler as if he 
had put his head in a wasp’s nests It burned his nose 
and blinded him and made him sea-sick, this special 
perfumery of Mr. Skunk’s. 

“Here’s some more,’’ Mr. Skunk said, and he 
sprinkled Mr. Dog all over with his special perfumery. 
“I’ve got plenty of it. How do you like it, Mr. Dog?’’ 

But Mr. Dog rolled on the ground and choked and 
sputtered and coughed and sneezed. Little Bun heard 
him and Old Man Porcupine heard him and Mr. Chicka¬ 
dee and they all said—“Mr. Skunk has been giving 
Mr. Dog lessons.’’ 

Mr. Dog waited three days and three nights before 
he could open his eyes and then he went home to get 
his breakfast. When he saw his dear Ma he tried to 
wag his tail and look as if he hadn’t been taking lessons 
of Mr. Skunk, but his dear Ma smelled Mr. Skunk’s 
special perfumery, growled and showed her teeth and 
said, “Shoo! you silly pup! you smell to heaven.’’ 

With his tail between his legs, Mr. Dog went over 
to his friend the Bull Terrier, but when he smelled 
the special perfumery the Bull Terrier snarled and 
stood on his back legs—“Don’t come near me, you fool 
dog, you smell like an automobile,’’ growled he. 

Then Mr. Dog went and rolled in the mud, soaked 
himself in the pond and returned to his dear Ma, 
wagging his tail hopefully. But she smelled him afar 
off and growled most ferociable and that took all the 
[ 101 ] 



HALF-TRUE STORIES 

wag out of his tail and he slunk away and howled like 
mad. 

Little Bun heard him and Old Man Porcupine heard 
him and Mr. Chickadee heard him and they knew that 
Mr. Dog was studying his lessons. Then his smell got 
mixed up with the smell of Mr. Skunk and pervaded 
the air—and they all said “Wheee--ew!!!” 

Thereupon Mr. Dog crawled off in the woods and 
hid himself for three weeks and meditated. When he 
came back his skin didn’t fit him, his ribs were all on 
the outside and his tail wouldn’t wag, but the special 
perfumery of Mr. Skunk had worn off and Mr. Dog had 
acquired knowledge and gained wisdom and was greatly 
enlightened. 

And this is the really-truly truth. 


[ 102 ] 



THE COMMITTEE ON MORALS 

rs going to rain,” said Uncle Hop 
Toad. 

“I don’t know about that,” re¬ 
plied Grandfather Bull Frog. “It 
won’t do to decide things off hand. 
At the next meeting of the Society 
I will refer it to the Committee on 
Rain.” 

“What’s the use?” asked Uncle 
Hop Toad. “It’s raining now/Can’t 

you see it?” 

“That may be! That may be! But we can’t feel 
sure of a thing until we’ve voted on it.” 

“Vote if you want to,” said Uncle Hop Toad, “I’m 
going to hunt for pill bugs. I’m hungry.” 

“How’s the hunting?” asked Grandfather Bull 
Frog. 

“Fair. I got a big one yesterday. He was a beauti¬ 
ful bug and as tender as a worm.” 

“Those Toads are a queer lot,” said Grandfather 
Bull Frog to himself as he plumped into the pond. 
“Not one of them has ever served on a committee. The 
idea of his trying to decide a question like that.” 

“Mornin’, Grandfather Bull Frog.” 

“Mornin’, Mr. Yellow Belly. I saw Uncle Hop 
Toad just now and he said it was going to rain. What 
do you think of that?” 

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Mr. Yellow Belly, 
shaking the water from his shiny green head. 

[103] 







HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“Yes he did,” replied Grandfather Bull Frog, 
blinking his big round eyes, which stuck out of his 
head like door knobs. “At the meeting today we’ll 
refer it to the Committee on Rain. I have a matter 
of the gravest importance to bring before the Society.” 

“Important! By Golly! By Golly! By Golly!” 
croaked all the frogs as they hurried to the meeting 
and scrambled on to the lilypads. 

“Call the roll, Mr. Pop Eye,” said Grandfather 
Bull Frog. 

“Mr. Ragged Breeches,” began Mr. Pop Eye. “Mr. 
Yellow Belly, Mr. Goggles, Mr. Greenback, Mr. Web 
Foot, Mr. Pop Eye, Mr. Pop Eye, I say. Where’s Mr. 
Pop Eye? Anybody seen Pop Eye? O he’s me, isn’t 
he? Yes, to be sure, I’m him,” and Mr. Pop Eye went 
on until he had called all the names. 

“The meeting will come to order,” said Grandfather 
Bull Frog, clearing his throat and looking most-orful 
solemn. The members of the Society cleared their 
throats and looked most-orful solemn. 

“I wish to call the attention of the' members of 
this Society to a matter of the gravest—the very gravest 
importance to the race,” continued Grandfather Bull 
Frog. 

“There’s going to be a race,” whispered Mr. Goggles 
excitedly to Mr. Greenback. 

“Fellow frogs,” said Grandfather Bull Frog, look¬ 
ing more-than-usual solemn, “the question concerns 
the morals of this Community.” 

[104] 


THE COMMITTEE ON MORALS 

“Morals! By Golly! By Golly! By Golly!” croaked 
the fellow frogs. 

“And I move,” said Grandfather Bull Frog, “that 
we appoint a committee on morals to look into the 
matter and report.” 

“Report! By Golly! By Golly! By Golly!” croaked 
the fellow frogs again. 

“I nominate,” continued Grandfather Bull Frog, 
“our fellow frog, Mr. Yellow Belly.” 

“Yellow Belly! Yellow Belly! Yellow Belly!” 

“And Mr. Ragged Breeches.” 

“Ragged Breeches! Ragged Breeches! Ragged 
Breeches, too!” 

“And Mr. Pop Eye.” 

“Pop Eye! By Golly! By Golly! By Golly!” 

“I’m on the Committee on Rain,” said Mr. Pop 
Eye, “I haven’t time for rain and morals too.” 

“O yes you have. Think of your duty to your 
fellow frogs, Mr. Pop Eye.” 

“Well, then we must elect a chairman,” said Mr. 
Pop Eye to the other committeemen. 

“What’s that?” asked Mr. Ragged Breeches. 

“I don’t know exactly,” answered Mr. Pop Eye, 
“but it’s always the fattest one, you know.” 

“No it isn’t,” said Mr. Yellow Belly. “It’s the 
oldest. That’s me. I’m elected.” 

“You talk like a pollywog,” said Mr. Pop Eye. “It’s 
always the fattest one. That’s me—I’m elected, ain’t 
I, Mr. Ragged Breeches?” 

[ 105 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


Mr. Ragged Breeches winked one large round eye and 
then t’other large round eye, and then both large round 
eyes and looked most-orful solemn. “You’re the fat¬ 
test,” said he, “and Mr. Yellow Belly here, he’s the 
oldest—that’s true. But it should be the one with the 
biggest mouth. That’s me—I’m elected.” 

“You’re a liar,” croaked Mr. Pop Eye. 

“Who’s a liar?” 

“You’re a liar.” 

“Liar! Liar! Liar!” croaked all three together. 

“The committee’s at work already,” said Grand¬ 
father Bull Frog. “Hear ’em?” 

“Hard at it,” said he next morning to Mr. Yellow 
Belly. “When will the report be ready?” 

“Yellow-bellied tadpole!” 

“Pop - eyed polly wog! ’ ’ 

“Liar! Liar! Liar!” croaked the committee. 

“We have to elect a chairman first,” said Mr. Yellow 
Belly. “We’re holding the election now.” 

“Who’s going to be elected?” asked Grandfather 
Bull Frog. 

“Not that yellow-bellied tadpole,” croaked Mr. 
Pop Eye. 

“Nor that pop-eyed polly wog,” shouted Mr. Yellow 
Belly. 

“This is a very exciting election,” said Grandfather 
Bull Frog, clearing his throat.^ “The votes must be 
counted. Who do you vote for, Mr. Yellow Belly?” 

“I vote for Yellow Belly—dear old Yellow Belly.” 

[ 106 ] 


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THE COMMITTEE ON MORALS 

“I vote for Pop Eye—honest Pop Eye,” said Mr. 
Pop Eye. 

“I vote for Ragged Breeches,” said he of that name, 
blowing bubbles vociferously. “I can talk louder than 
any frog living and that’s what our fellow frogs love, 

By Golly!-Ragged Breeches! RAGGED BREECHES!! 

RAGGED BREECHES!!!” 

“He has great qualifications,” said Grandfather 
Bull Frog. “He understands his fellow-frogs. Mr. 
Ragged Breeches is elected chairman.” 

“He didn’t get any more votes than I did,” shouted 
Mr. Pop Eye. 

“I elected him,” said Grandfather Bull Frog. 
“You can be chairman next time.” 

“A very close election,” remarked Mr. Greenback 
to Mr. Goggles. “They’ve elected Mr. Ragged Breeches 
—G-r-r-e-a-t frog for the place.” 

“Ragged Breeches! Ragged Breeches! Ragged 
Breeches!” croaked the fellow frogs. 

“The committee will now proceed to business,” 
said Mr. Ragged Breeches, looking most-orful solemn. 
“We have to consider the very important question of— 
what’s the important question, Mr. Pop Eye?” 

“Golly! what was it?” asked Mr. Pop Eye of Mr. 
Yellow Belly. 

“A very important question,” Mr. Ragged Breeches 
went on, speaking louder and louder. “But first we’ll 
adjourn for a swim. The committee will meet when 

[ 109 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


the sun comes out, and I hope we’ll have a quorum. 
I can beat you across the pond, Yellow Belly.” 

“That’s a great committee,” said Mr. Greenback 
to Mr. Goggles. “They’re a fine lot of frogs.” 

“Now if I was chairman of that committee,” began 
Mr. Goggles, his eyes sticking out of his head, “I’d—” 

“O dry up! dry up! dry up!” croaked the fellow 
frogs. 

The sun was shining on the pond bright and hot 
when the committee scrambled on to the lily pads. 
Mr. Ragged Breeches puffed himself up and rolled his 
large round eyes. “Have we a quorum, By Golly?” 
asked he. 

“By Golly, we have!” said Mr. Yellow Belly. 

“Then we’ll consider this very important question, 
this very important question. Mr. Pop Eye will open 
the discussion.” 

“As a member of this board, I wish to remark”— 
began Mr. Pop Eye. 

“We haven’t heard the minutes of the last meeting 
yet,” interrupted Mr. Yellow Belly, greatly excited. 

“A serious oversight,” said Mr. Ragged Breeches, 
blinking his huge goggle eyes, “a very serious oversight. 
Let us hear them at once, Mr. Yellow Belly.” 

“At a meeting of the Society-for-Hearing-Them- 
selves-Talk,” began Mr. Yellow Belly, “all the members 
being present, Mr. Ragged Breeches, Mr. Yellow Belly 
and Mr. Pop Eye were appointed a committee on 
Morals.” 


[HO] 



THE COMMITTEE ON MORALS 

“Morals! By Golly! By Golly! By Golly!” croaked 
the fellow frogs. 

“At an election held by said committee,” con¬ 
tinued Mr. Yellow Belly, “our fellow frog Mr. Ragged 
Breeches was elected chairman. The meeting then 
adjourned.” 

“Ragged Breeches! Ragged Breeches! Ragged 
Breeches!” croaked the fellow frogs. 

“Mr. Pop Eye will now address this committee,” 
said Mr. Ragged Breeches. 

“As a member of the board,” began Mr. Pop Eye, 
“it is my duty to call your attention to the fact that the 
water of our great and noble pond is not as muddy as 
it ought to be, and in my opinion it endangers the 
health and the morals of this community to drink 
such clear water. We don’t get enough bugs and our 
blood is. getting thin. No bugs, no morals! as every¬ 
body knows. And I want to add,” continued Mr. Pop 
Eye, puffing himself up again, “that the young lady 
frogs are opening their mouths much wider than they 
did when I was young, and a great deal wider than 
there is any need of. ’Tain’t modest—you can see 
what’s inside of ’em, and it’s time something was 
done about it.” 

“True! Mr. Pop Eye!” said the chairman. “It’s 
shocking and indecent. I will mention it in the re¬ 
port.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” began Mr. Yellow Belly, “that 
something ought to be done for the pollywogs.” 

[Ill] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“What’s the matter with the pollywogs, Mr. Yel¬ 
low Belly?” 

“Something ought to be done,” Mr. Yellow Belly 
went on, “to keep their tails from coming off so soon. 
You see pollywogs running around without tails and 
behaving as if they were grown up frogs before they are 
old enough to have any sense at all.” 

“That’s bad enough,” said Mr. Pop Eye, “but the 
worst thing we have to contend with is the way the 
young frogs stay out of the water for hours at a time 
and get dried through. If the parents won’t do any¬ 
thing—the Society must take it up.” 

“It’s a turrible condition,” said the chairman, 
“TURRIBLE! I will recommend the Society to in¬ 
vestigate it.” 

“And now I wish to bring to your attention a very 
grave matter which affects the health of this Commun¬ 
ity. I speak of the trout microbe. The community 
can’t be healthy as long as it is being devoured by this 
pest. Thousands of young children die every year 
from its ravages. Why I lost several hundred of my 
own children last year alone, and in some families it 
is even worse. The mortality among the poor is ap¬ 
palling.” 

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” asked 
Mr. Yellow Belly. 

“Do!” exclaimed the chairman. “We must pass 
resolutions of course. That’s the only thing to do at 
[ 112 ] 



THE COMMITTEE ON MORALS 


a critical time like this. The committee must do its 
duty.” 

“Of course!” said Mr. Pop Eye, “that’s the only 
thing to do at a time like this.” 

So the committee looked most-orful solemn and 
rolled its eyes and passed resolutions. 

“They are passing resolutions,” croaked all the 
members of the Society-for-Hearing-Themselves-Talk, 
looking most-orful solemn. 

“The committee has acted just in time,” said 
Grandfather Bull Frog, “just in time. Our fellow 
frog, Mr. Ragged Breeches has done his duty.” 

“Just in time! By Golly! By Golly! By Golly!” 
croaked the fellow frogs. 



[ 113 ] 



THE CAWCUS 


HE time had come, Miss Crow said, 
for the lady-crows to assert them¬ 
selves. They must lift up their 
voices; they must hold a cawcus. 
She said it was foolish to sup¬ 
pose that they could do the way 
their mothers had done, much less 
their grandmothers. THEY hadn’t 
ASSERTED themselves. But then of 
course, they didnlt know any better, 
poor things. THEY just sat on eggs and fed their children 
and did fool things of that sort. Now the lady-crows were 
going to assert themselves, and they wouldn’t have to sit 
on eggs or do fool things any more and could devote their 
whole time to ASSERTING themselves. 

All the lady-crows that heard Miss Crow talk agreed 
that these were glorious ideas. They said they would 
like to stop doing fool things and show the world that 
they could ASSERT themselves. And they said, “What 
a strong face Miss Crow has. And hasn’t she a sweet 
caw? And doesn’t she ASSERT herself?’’ 

Miss Crow said she would be perfectly-happy if she 
could help them to ASSERT themselves. She said they 
must all work for the CAWSE, and they all agreed that 
that was what they wanted to do and they would be 
perfectly-happy if they could only work for the CAWSE. 

Miss Crow preened her feathers and cawed and 
announced that they would hold a cawcus in the pine 
[ 114 ] 









THE CAWCUS 

woods that afternoon and all the lady-crows and their 
lady-cousins must come and caw. 

Every lady-crow told her lady-cousin and every 
lady-cousin told a friend-of-hers and they came from 
Far-and-near and from Here-and-there and also from 
Round-about and Over-yonder, until the air was black 
with lady-crows and their lady-cousins and friends-of- 
theirs. They came in dozens and hundreds and thou¬ 
sands and filled the trees, till there wasn’t room for 
anybody else except the White Cricket that lived and 
chirped in a wild grape vine; and the White Cricket 
minded its own business and always staid on the under 
side of the grape leaf. 

The White Cricket was very musical and chirped 
all through the night as if it were playing on a little 
fiddle with only one string, and in the daytime it slept, 
though it would sometimes wake up for a while and 
chirp between naps. 

When the lady-crows and their lady-cousins and 
friends-of-theirs arrived, the White Cricket had just 
waked up and was beginning its evening song. It was 
a very sweet little song, soft and low, but always on 
the same note. The lady-crows began to caw all to¬ 
gether without waiting for Miss Crow to open the 
meeting, and the louder Miss Crow cawed the louder 
they all cawed. Lady-cousins who were still on the 
way, as soon as they heard the sound of voices began 
to caw too, so that they were out of breath when they 
arrived; but as soon as they could fill themselves up 

[ 115 ] 



HALF-TRUE STORIES 

with air again they went right on cawing, which pleased 
them. 

Miss Crow tried to call the meeting to order and 
cawed and cawed until she nearly cawed her head off 
because, you see, every lady-crow cawed so loud that 
she could hear only herself, and every time any other 
lady-crow seemed to be getting a little louder she 
would open her mouth and caw so fast and so hard that 
her eyes would bulge out. This made the lady-crows 
and their lady-cousins and friends-of-theirs very ex¬ 
cited, so that they hopped up and down and flopped 
their wings in each other’s shiny black faces and shook 
some feathers out of their shiny black tails. Their 
eyes snapped and their tongues wagged and they were 
all perfectly-happy. 

The White Cricket went on playing on its little 
fiddle, but the noise of the lady-crows grew louder and 
louder and it could not hear itself at all. “There must 
be something the matter,’’ said the White Cricket. 
“Something quite serious, I should think. O dear, 
what can the trouble be?’’ 

“Please ma’am, what has happened?’’ it asked the 
nearest lady-crow, very politely. 

But the nearest lady-crow was cawing so loudly 
she wouldn’t have heard a thunder storm. 

“Please ma’am, is anything the matter?” the 
White Cricket asked again. But nobody paid any at¬ 
tention and as the White Cricket couldn’t hear itself 
even, and being a very philosophical cricket with the 
[ 116 ] 
























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THE CAWCUS 


habit of minding its own business, it went to playing 
on its little fiddle, till it grew tired of playing a tune it 
could not hear and fell asleep. 

When the White Cricket opened its eyes again it 
was quite dark and still. All the lady-crows except 
one had moved away to another part of the woods. 
The White Cricket began at once to play on its little 
fiddle. 

“Stop that noise, Bug!” said the lady-crow crossly. 

“Please ma’am, I want to play on my fiddle,” the 
White Cricket answered, most politely. 

“Why don’t you play in the daytime, then—and 
not keep respectable folks awake?” 

“Please ma’am, I couldn’t, you made so much 
noise.” 

“Nonsense,” said the lady-crow, “we were holding 
a cawcus. It was very important.” 

“What were they saying?” asked the White Cricket, 
very politely again. 

“I don’t know what they were saying and I don’t 
care. I know what I was saying and I meant it, too.” 

“You seemed to be very excited,” ventured the 
White Cricket. 

“I was ASSERTING myself,” replied the lady-crow. 
“I was working for the CAWSE.” 

“Please ma’am, what does that mean?” 

“What does that mean? Why, you poor ignorant 
bug. It means the CAWSE, to be sure. We must 
ASSERT ourselves.” 


[119] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“Do you mean,” asked the White Cricket softly, 
“that you must caw so loud that you can’t hear any¬ 
body else caw?” 

“We can’t expect a mere bug to understand such 
things,” said the lady-crow in an injured tone. “What’s 
the use of talking to a bug anyway?” and she flew off 
to join the other lady-crows. 

“She seems very much excited,” said the White 
Cricket to itself. “I wonder what fun she finds in that.” 
And it fell to playing softly on its little fiddle. 


[120] 



THE LITTLE SHINER 

VER since anybody can remember 
there has been a school of fish in 
the pond,—perch and pickerel and 
shiners. The pickerel and perch 
grow up and leave school after 
awhile, but the shiners never do. 
They always go to school. Well, 
they LIKE it. If a little shiner 
couldn’t go to school he would be 
very unhappy. 

You see, a shiner did run away from school once upon 
a time and things happened to him and when he came 
back, all the little fish said: “I told you so!” He just 
took a notion and notions are bad for shiners, stremely 
bad. Nearly all of them know this and so they never 
dream of leaving school, but now and then one thinks 
he knows better. 

This particularly gregious Shiner said to himself 
that he was tired of school and was going to swim alone 
and go where he pleased, and this was a fool notion 
that only a gregious shiner could get. He never knew 
how he took it. He couldn’t have caught it from the 
other shiners, because none of them had it. But he 
took it, and then he slipped away by himself and set out 
to see the world. 

He had been around the pond a hundred and one 
times with the school, where each shiner had his place 
and all swam with the same speed and never changed. 
But this was different. It looked new to him now 
[ 121 ] 






\ HALF-TRUE STORIES 

and he wiggledy-woggled his tail and cavorted like 
mad. He began to think he was the only shiner in the 
pond and that he was about the biggest fish that ever 
grew. The more he thought of himself the bigger 
he felt, and he grew and grew and grew, till he was 
sure he was a whale; but somehow his skin didn’t get 
too tight for him even then. 

After a while he came to a part of the pond he had 
never been in before, an awesome place where there 
was much pickerel weed and eel grass and the water 
was of the beautiful color of bean soup. He could not 
see far and he began to feel less and less like a whale. 
A dim shadowy shape wobbled past in the grouzly 
gloom and he slipped behind a slimy boulder and hid. 
It was Miss Mud Turtle, she that was, but she did not 
see the little Shiner for her head was out of water and 
she was looking for frogs. He could feel himself shrink¬ 
ing now and it wasn’t a comfy feeling at all. When 
another dim shape loomed in the distance he suddenly 
realized that he was precisely the size of a minute. 

This second shape had a large hole in and it was 
coming hole first. Before the particularly gregious 
Shiner knew what had happened, the hole shut up and 
he found himself flopping in tee-total darkness. To 
be perfectly frank, he was in the dark inside of Mi*. Pike. 

Mr. Pike, having swallowed the Shiner, likewise 
swallowed the next thing that came along, which 
happened to be a hook, and found himself flopping on 
the bottom of a boat. While he flopped outside the 
[ 122 ] 











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THE LITTLE SHINER 

little Shiner flopped inside, and then HE was outside too, 
for he wriggled out of Mr. Pike’s mouth, over the rail and 
into the water and slipped away in the grouzly gloom. 

That particularly gregious Shiner never stopped 
swimming and the further he went the more glummish 
it grew, for the water was thick and soupy and the lily 
pads shut out the light. This was where the little 
pickerel frogs lived and young Mr. Watersnake and 
Old Man Muskrat. 

Very melancholy grew that little fish in that sad 
place. He thought of the school swimming along 
shore, all the fins and tails moving together. But he 
could, not cry. No matter how unhappy a shiner may 
feel, he cannot cry for he has no tear duct. A tear duct 
would be a very handy thing for a shiner that wanted 
to weep, or to wail or do anything like that. He couldn’t 
holler for he had nothing to holler with—so he just 
sulked. He poked his nose under a stick and sulked 
and sulked. That’s the only thing a shiner GAN do 
when he’s melancholy. All shiners learn how to sulk 
when they are quite young. By the time they are 
two months old they can do it very well. 

When a brown water beetle of a terrifying bigness 
came walloping along, the Shiner paid no attention to 
him, but that carniverous bug bit a piece out of his 
back before he could shake him off. He took one 
mouthful and left a neat round hole. The little Shiner 
was not much hurt, but he was so scared that his gills 
actually turned pale. 


[125] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

He did not feel at all like a whale now, and he 
began to think he was really too small for his skin. 
A shiner that has run away from school would never 
think of going back with a piece bitten out of him 
and that Shiner knew it would grow in again if he sulked 
and took plenty of nourishing food. By reason of the 
paleness of the gills he was afraid to stay where he was, 
so he slunk away in the dark, skulking behind stones 
and under lily pads. Each day he grew thinner and 
his eyes grew bigger as he skulked and sulked, waiting 
for the piece to grow in, that the walloping beetle had 
bitten out of his back. 


At last he felt in his bones that the hole had filled 
up, and when a Shiner feels anything in his bones he 
is sure of it for he feels it all over. He wanted to leave 
that water of the beautiful color of bean soup, and not 
knowing which way to go, he followed his nose and it 
was all his tail could do to keep up with it. This was 
really the only way to get out of a glummish place like 
that; for his nose actually did go out into clear water, 
and to be perfectly frank, his tail arrived very soon 
after. 

When it reached clear water the nose of that par¬ 
ticularly gregious Shiner kept on till it took him back 
to the school, where he fell into line with the rest and 
tried to make believe he had never run away. But all 
the little shiners saw the scar where the walloping 
beetle had bitten a piece out of his back and said: 

“I told you so!” 



THE FIRST WOODPECKER 
AND THE NEXT 

IME, you will remember, began on a 
Monday at one o’clock, and it was 
only an age or two after that, that 
the First Woodpecker moved into 
the woods. Woodpeckers have bills 
like chisels and tongues like har¬ 
poons, feet like climbers and tails 
that they can sit down on. But 
when they moved into the woods 
they were poor and did not have 
these things and it took them just an age to get them. 
Of course they had bills and tongues and feet and tails 
in the meantime, but they were of a very old-fashioned 
make and they couldn’t sit down on their tails, or 
climb with their feet nor harpoon with their tongues, 
and they hadn’t learned to drum. 

The First Woodpecker was hungry one day with a 
primeval appetite, which was the only kind they had 
in those early times, and was hunting in a tree for 
something to eat. While he was looking about and 
holding on the best he could in his old-fashioned way, 
he came to a stub of a dead branch and tapped it with 
his Early-Quaternary bill, and as he tapped the stub 
it made a noise which sounded loud and clear in the 
Primeval Woods. When he heard this he struck the 
branch again and again and after each blow he stopped 
to listen and was DElighted with the noise he made, 
for it was the first he had ever heard. 

[ 127 ] 








HALF-TRUE STORIES 

From that time he went every day to tap on the 
dead stub and practised faithfully until he had learned 
to drum. The First Squirrel and the First Rabbit 
came to hear him and were stonished at his perform¬ 
ance. “What a beautiful noise!” cried they, and the 
First Woodpecker himself believed this to be the case 
and was tickled to death. 

Now it happened about this time that the Next 
Woodpecker arrived in the Primeval Woods, also with 
a primeval appetite, and hearing the beautiful noise 
that the First Woodpecker was making he paused to 
listen, for it was the first HE had ever heard. When 
he discovered that there was another Woodpecker 
in the woods and that he was the author of this pleasing 
sound, he approached and besought him most humbly 
that he might give him lessons. 

“Go to!” said the First Woodpecker. “I am the 
author and discoverer of beautiful noise. No one 
shall make it but me. If anyone else tries it, it shows 
that he is a dangerous pteradactyl and a cheap skate 
and any noise that he makes will only be a contemptible 
imitation.” 

And this was the beginning of human nature and 
the very first sign of it. 

The Next Woodpecker was filled with righteous in¬ 
dignation. “He thinks he knows it all,” said he. 
“I’ll show him that he isn’t the only one that can 
make a noise.” And this was the very next sign of human 
nature. 


[128] 




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THE 


FIRST WOODPECKER AND THE NEXT 


So he watched the First Woodpecker as he was 
drumming one day and, seeing how it was done, he 
found a hickory stub in the Primeval Woods and went 
and practised by himself. Presently he also was drum¬ 
ming and the First Rabbit and the First Squirrel came 
to listen and were stonished. The Next Woodpecker 
played every day upon his stub and soon became con¬ 
vinced that HE was the author and discoverer of beauti¬ 
ful noise. 

When the First Woodpecker heard of this his 
primeval feelings got the better of him and gave him 
a pain in his turn, which was the first pain he had ever 
felt; and he said, referring to the Next Woodpecker, 
that it only proved what he had always believed, that 
the Next Woodpecker was not only a dangerous ptera- 
dactyl but a cheap skate, as anybody could see who had 
eyes in his head. Now this was the most decidedly 
human trait that had yet appeared in the Primeval 
Woods. 

In spite of the pain in his turn, the First Wood¬ 
pecker drummed louder than ever on his stub. “This,” 
said he, to the first Rabbit and the First Squirrel, “is 
the only beautiful noise, of which I am the author and 
discoverer. It is absurd even to suppose that anyone 
else could have discovered it.” 

The Next Woodpecker also drummed on his stub 
and being younger, and having absolutely no pain in 
his turn, made even more noise than did the First. 
“That old Jay,” said he to the First Rabbit, and the 
[ 131 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

First Squirrel, “is not making a really-truly noise at all 
—he only thinks he is. I am the author and discoverer 
and there is no other.” And the First Rabbit and the 
First Squirrel said—truly it must be even so. 

Now there came into the Primeval Woods a lady- 
woodpecker and nobody knew where she came from; 
neither did she herself know. 

When the First Woodpecker saw the lady, he forgot 
the original pain and began to drum with a great flour¬ 
ish. The lady pretended she did not hear—while she 
listened and was filled with admiration. And in this 
she was almost human. 

The First Woodpecker played away on his stub and 
while he drummed, it seemed to him that he was talking 
to the lady woodpecker. 

“TAP! TAP!—Look at me!” 

“TAP! TAP!—TAP! TAP!—Hear me drum!” 

“TAP! TAP!—TAP! TAP! TAP! Don’t you think I 
am a wonderful bird?” 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!—r-r-r-r-r-r-r-!!! What a lovely bill 
you have. O come and live with me in the Primeval 
Woods.” 

While the First Woodpecker was drumming, the 
Next approached and seeing the lady-woodpecker he 
also was possessed to drum; so he flew away to his stub 
to show what a noise he could make and to tell the 
lady-woodpecker what a very superior bird he was. 

“He’s only a cheap skate,” said the First Wood- 
[ 132 ]. 



THE FIRST WOODPECKER AND THE NEXT 

pecker. “I’m the author and discoverer of beautiful 
noise. Come live with me.’’ 

“Don’t listen to that old Jay,’’ said the next Wood¬ 
pecker from his stub. “He has no ear for noise. Just 
listen to rpine. Lovely bird, O live with me!’’ 

Now the lady-woodpecker was much perturbed. 
She had but lately arrived upon the earth and this was 
the first noise she had heard and these the first wood¬ 
peckers she had ever seen. She thought it would be 
very agreeable to go and live in the Primeval Woods with 
one of these fine birds and have him always making 
that really beautiful noise—but which one? 

When she listened to the First Woodpecker she 
thought he made the most beautiful noise, and when 
she heard the Next she was sure that HE did, and she 
would never have been able to decide which she liked 
best if the First Woodpecker hadn’t had such a pain 
in his turn. 

That pain was more-than-he-could-bear and made 
him so cross that he flew at the next Woodpecker and 
tried to nihilate him, and he would have done it—he 
had such an orful pain—if the next Woodpecker hadn’t 
nihilated him first. 

When the Next Woodpecker had nihilated the 
First he flew to his stub and drummed ever so hard. 
“That proves,’’ said he to the First Rabbit and the 
First Squirrel, “that I am the author and discoverer of 
beautiful noise.’’ 

And the First Rabbit and the First Squirrel said it 

[ 133 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


must be even so. The lady-woodpecker also said that 
it proved it without a doubt and she would go and 
live with the Next Woodpecker in the Primeval Woods 
—which she did. 

They lived ten years before they were eaten by the 
First Gat, and had fifty children, two hundred grand¬ 
children and one thousand two hundred and five great 
grand-children—all woodpeckers. The fifty children, 
two hundred grand-children and one thousand two 
hundred and five great grand-children learned to drum 
like the Next Woodpecker, and all believed he was the 
author and discoverer of beautiful noise. And he was 
the only one in the Primeval Woods who knew that he 
was a really-truly humbug. 








THE WAY OF THE WORLD 

HE hills were blue and smoky; crick¬ 
ets were singing in the cornfield, and 
red and yellow leaves were sailing on 
the pond. Miss Spider decided the 
time had come to make herself a 
balloon and fly across the field. So 
she climbed a cornstalk, stood on 
her head and began to spin till a 
long thread floated in the air. 
While she was spinning her 
thread, Miss Black Ant, prowling up the cornstalk, 
peered over the edge of a leaf and beheld her all alone 
and standing on her head. 

“What on earth are you doing, Miss Spider?” 
cried she. 

“I’m going to fly, Miss Ant. That’s what I’m 
doing.” 

When she heard that, Miss Ant came near falling, 
she was SO amused, but Miss Spider went on with her 
thread. 

“How do you think you’re going to fly, Miss Spider?” 

“Leave me be,” said Miss Spider. 

With that Miss Ant had to run and find Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper. 

“O Mr. Grasshopper, come here. Miss Spider’s 
daffy and thinks she’s going to fly.” 

Mr. Grasshopper was hopping near by and when 
he heard this he called out—“What did you say, Miss 
Ant? What’s the matter with Miss Spider?” 

[1351 







HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“Come and see,” said Miss Ant. 

So they scrambled up the cornstalk and there 
was Miss Spider still standing on her head. 

“Here I go,” said she, “I’m going to fly!” and just 
then the breeze caught the long thread, dragging her 
off the leaf, but it broke in two and floated away and 
Miss Spider dropped to the ground—KER FLUMP! 

While Miss Ant and Mr. Grasshopper were laugh¬ 
ing, up came Miss Spider and standing on her head 
began spinning out another thread, and Miss Ant 
winked a number of her compound eyes at Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper. The thread grew longer and longer and floated 
above the cornstalk and Miss Spider stood on the tip 
toes of her front feet. 

Suddenly she gave a jump and sailed up into the 
air and in the next instant spun herself a sort of balloon 
basket which she grasped with her feet, and she really- 
truly and actually did fly over the cornfield. Miss Ant 
watched Miss Spider with all of her compound eyes 
until she was out of sight, which was in no time at all, 
as she is very near sighted, and then she and Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper started across the field to see what would 
happen. 

Miss Spider flew in her balloon as high as you can 
throw a stone, and the air had become rarified—O 
stremely so. When she had broken all records she 
began to descend. This was done by pulling in her line 
with her feet and rolling it up in a ball in her mouth, 
whereupon she slowly came to earth and alighted gently 
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THE WAY OF THE WORLD 

on the shore of the pond. Now it happened that a 
birch leaf came sailing by at that moment, all yellow 
and crinkly and pleasing to the eye, and Miss Spider 
climbed nimbly aboard as Miss Ant and Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper arrived, covered with dust and panting for 
breath. And even as they watched, she stood upon her 
head and spun a thread. 

“O Miss Spider, wait a minute!” called Miss Ant. 

But she only smiled a spinster smile as she scudded 
away for the other shore and said—precisely nothing. 

Miss Black Ant was puzzled by this strange con¬ 
duct of Miss Spider, but it would never have done to let 
Mr. Grasshopper see this, so she merely said in an off¬ 
hand way—stremely offhand: “Well, I must go and 
look after my cows.” 

“What’s that, Miss Ant?” 

“Nothing! I just said I was going to look after my 
cows,” and away she went, waving her jointed feelers. 

When Mr. Grasshopper heard that, he laughed a 
grasshopper laugh as he skipped by her side. Miss Ant 
ran along the edge of the pond and turned up the hill 
to a small maple tree, up which she went to the lowest 
branch, where she stopped and looked down at Mr. 
Grasshopper who stood on his hindmost legs, staring 
up into the tree. 

“You don’t keep your cows up there, do you?” 
Mr. Grasshopper asked. 

“That’s just what I do,” replied Miss Ant, where¬ 
upon she ran along the branch to a fork and disappeared. 

[ 139 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

Mr. Grasshopper could not follow, so he laughed 
his grasshopper laugh and soon forgot all about it. 
For grasshoppers, you know, have very good forgetters 
in the backs of their heads. O yes, my child, and they 
can disremember anything they please. They have 
ears in their legs and little files on their wings, and they 
play on these files with sweet winning smiles: also they 
lay up nothing for the winter—and neither does the 
horse. Now that is all there is to know about grass¬ 
hoppers, except that they are vegetarians and fond of 
salad—stremely so. 

Miss Ant ran along the branch till she came to a 
twig and out the twig to a leaf and THERE was a herd 
of green ant cows grazing together in the shade. 

An ant cow is not exactly like a red-and-white cow. 
To begin with, it is about the size of the head of a pin; 
it has no horns, but it sometimes has wings—and it 
lays eggs, which no red-and-white cow ever does. And 
herein you see it is unlike even the purple cow. 

Miss Ant was greatly pleased to find her cows con¬ 
tentedly browsing in their pasture and showed her 
pleasure by stroking them with her feelers. They were 
fine animals, as you might readily see—fat and sleek 
and of that delicate green color of well-bred stock. It 
was milking time and Miss Ant proceeded at once to 
milk them. The milk also is somewhat different from 
'that of the red-and-white cow and looks more like 
honey, or syrup, or melted sugar and such delectable 
things. Miss Ant had only to tickle the cow with her 

[ 140 ] 


THE WAY OF THE WORLD 

feelers and then take the milk. She had no pail so she 
drank the milk on the spot which saved her all further 
trouble. 

While she was tending her cows a small brown ant 
came and looked at them as if he—or she or it—would 
like to have some milk, but Miss Black Ant stared with 
all of her compound, chromatic, self-adjusting eyes 
and waved her jointed feelers, which so frightened the 
little brown ant that she-or-he-or-it dropped off the 
edge of the leaf and fell through space inch after inch 
to the earth. 

Then a gnat with gauzy wings and a bottle-green 
coat lit on the cow pasture and this gnat was precisely 
the size of a green cow. Darting at him, Miss Ant 
gnashed her horny jaws together and the gnat thought 
of his home and children and took to his gauzy wings. 

The ant-cows continued to browse with their little 
green beaks and if you had watched them with com¬ 
pound, chromatic, self-adjusting eyes you would have 
seen that they were slowly swelling like toy balloons. 
When she saw one that looked as if it were going to 
burst, Miss Ant tickled it with her jointed feelers and 
put the milk in her patent pail. 

She was about to take the milk of a particularly fat 
green cow—and heaven knows where she was going to 
put it, for her pail was full—when suddenly Mr. Chicka¬ 
dee dashed in to the maple leaf and sent it whirling to 
the ground, ant, cows and all. Before Miss Ant knew 
what had happened the leaf dropped to the grass. 

[ 141 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

Mr. Grasshopper was hopping about under the 
tree, for he often practised that way to help pass the 
time. He was trying a new kind of hop which was to 
go straight ahead and then turn in the air and land 
backwards. As he was accomplishing this fearsome 
trick, the leaf sailed past his goggle eyes and settled to 
the ground. When he saw who was standing on it he 
opened his eyes very wide and when Miss Ant began to 
run about waving her jointed feelers, touching first one 
green bug and then another, Mr. Grasshopper concluded 
that she had gone daffy sure enough. But then his 
behind legs began to kick again and in another minute 
they had hopped off with him and he had disremem- 
bered all about it—by reason of the forgettor in the 
back of his head. 

On reaching the other shore of the pond Miss 
Spider climbed the bank and decided she would build 
the biggest web ever and catch a true-blue bottle fly. 
So she spied around until she saw a blueberry bush and 
a clump of golden rod side by side. This was precisely 
what she wanted and, stretching a line from one to the 
other, she ran merrily to and fro paying out threads 
from her little insides, criss-cross, till she had a frame 
for her web, like the spokes of a wheel. Miss Spider 
was a merry soul in a dry spiderish way—though she 
never laughed, she never even sneezed, and the more 
she thought of the true-blue bottle fly the merrier she 
grew. 

Round and round she ran on the spokes of her 
[ 142 ] 


THE WAY OF THE WORLD 

wheel, reeling out a line from those little insides and 
hitching it as she went with her off hind foot, till she 
had built a fish net in the sky. And she sprinkled it 
over with glue in gobs and globules and drops, so small 
that they could only be seen by taking two looks and 
a half. 

When the web was done and besprinkled with glue 
this crafty Miss Spider just smiled, being a merry soul 
in a spiderish way and loving her work, you know. In 
the centre she arranged herself all comfy and that is 
to say, upside down. Then she stood on her head with 
a line in each foot and continued her spinster smile. 

Now Mr. Blue Bottle Fly was gadding about to see 
what he could see. The sunbeams danced on his 
bottle-blue back and he buzzed to hear himself buzz. 
When he came to the web, all besprinkled with glue 
in gobs and globules and drops, he said—“What fool 
thing is that,” buzzed headlong into the net, and 
found himself glued to the spot. 

Then came the little spider, smiling inwardly with 
pleasing thoughts of dinner, and she tied his legs neatly 
with yards of thread which she spun from her little 
insides. 

While she was tying up the legs of the true-blue 
bottle fly, six in all, Mrs. Muddauber came sailing by, 
her long yellow legs dangling in the air and her mouth 
full of mud. Mrs. Muddauber had decided to lay an 
egg and was bjuilding a nest to put it in. Her ways are 
[ 143 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


extremely erratic—quite unlike the hens—and she is 
a very fierce person—O hijjus fierce. 

“What a fat, juicy spider to lay my precious egg in,” 
she said to herself as she hurried along. And whizzing 
to her nest she slapped on the mud and was back in an 
instant. Pouncing upon Miss Spider she stung her in 
her thoracic ganglia, which is about where her waist 
ought to be. “How my back hurts me,” murmured 
Miss Spider, drowsily—and then she fell asleep. Carry¬ 
ing the unconscious Miss Spider to her nest, Mrs. 
Muddauber shoved her in head-first with the egg she 
had laid. Then she walled up the door with mud and 
left her hermetically sealed, and that means canned. 

And from that egg was hatched a little worm, which 
worm did eat Miss Spider, and being eaten, there is an 
end to my tale. 

i • tVWBB 


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[ 144 ] 







THECOMPLETE STONISHMENT 
OF MR. GRASSHOPPER 

OW listen, child, and I will tell you 
a tale that is nearly half true and 
entirely wonderful, and it begins 
like this: 

Mr. Grasshopper was once danc¬ 
ing by himself, when Miss Black 
Ant appeared and watched him 
with her compound self-adjusting 
eyes. 

“What are you trying to do?” 

“I’m learning a new dance,” said Mr. Grasshopper. 

“Looks like a fool dance. Is it any fun?” 

“It’s more than fun,” Mr. Grasshopper replied. 
“Try it!” 

“I couldn’t,” said Miss Black Ant. “I haven’t any 
brains in my feet.” 

“Why, where are they?” 

“In my head.” 

“I never heard of such a thing,” said Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper. “Then of course you never could learn the 
hop flop. Ho! Ho! Brains in her head!” and Mr. 
Grasshopper continued the hop flop, while Miss Black 
Ant went off to tend to her cows—not having any brains 
in her feet. 

Presently came a Measuring Worm that way and 
the length of him over all was five centimeters. This 
[ 145 ] 



asked she. 

“I’m learning 
“Looks like a 





HALF-TRUE STORIES 

measuring worm progressed in a manner peculiar to 
himself, as ordained in the beginning, for he brought 
his tail-end up to his head-end and hunched up his 
back in a loop, and wherever he went he measured the 
ground, and whenever he climbed a grass stalk he 
measured that. All day long he measured off centi¬ 
meters and every time he measured his own length 
he said,—“One more—by Clam!” And he was pos¬ 
sessed with a desire to measure all things. 

When he was hungry, this very precise Worm first 
marked off five centimeters of a grass leaf and then ate 
it. And he grew and he grew, till his length over all 
was six centimeters. After that he always measured 
off six centimeters at a time and said,—“One more— 
by Clam!” 

This exceedingly precise Worm, you see, could only 
count as far as one. 

When he saw Mr. Grasshopper he paused, for he 
was a worm of sedate character. 

“Hum! Why do you thus hop?” he asked. 

“I’m made that way,” Mr. Grasshopper replied. 

“Straordinary, I call it!” 

“I call it the hop flop,” said Mr. Grasshopper. 

“Hum! and you like it?” 

“Watch me!” and Mr. Grasshopper cavorted might¬ 
ily, having brains in his feet. 

“I don’t see any sense in that, but I suppose you 
have to get it out of your system,” said the Measuring 
Worm, after watching him awhile, and he brought his 
[ 146 ] 





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THE STONISHMENT OF MR. GRASSHOPPER 

hind-end up to his front-end, hunched up his back 
in a loop and went to sleep. 

And now begins the entirely wonderful part of this 
tale. N 

Mr. Grasshopper hop-flopped for an hour or so and 
then went off to play with a friend-of-his. When he 
came back next morning to practise the hop flop, that 
very precise Worm was in the exact spot where he had 
left him, moving his head to and fro as if dancing a jig. 

“What kind of a dance is that?” asked Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper, but the Measuring Worm kept on moving his 
head and merely said “Hum!” 

“You aren’t trying to learn the hop flop, are you?’’ 
asked Mr. Grasshopper. 

“Hum!’’ said the Measuring Worm, and that’s all 
he said, just—“Hum!’’ But his head went to and 
fro, to and fro. 

Mr. Grasshopper stood and watched him, till it 
made his feet go to see the Measuring Worm moving 
his head, and very soon he was dancing the hop flop 
and cavorting mightily. But the Measuring Worm 
continued to shake his head from side to side, while 
he spun from his mouth a fine thread of silk round about 
him—as it was ordained in the beginning—and every 
time he wove a thread he said,—“One more—by Clam!” 
He spun and he spun while Mr. Grasshopper danced, 
until at length—such are the facts—he had completely 
spun himself out of sight and had curled up in the 
small silk bag which he had made. 

[ 149 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


Mr. Grasshopper hopped and flopped, for the sun 
was warm and he was a nimble lad. Then he wiped 
the perspiration from his mottled nose with his behind 
foot and turned to look at the Measuring Worm. But 
there was no worm to be seen—only a fuzzy silk bag. 

Mr. Grasshopper was completely stonished. He 
rubbed his behind foot over his large round eye and 
peered at the bag and his stonishment waxed greater. 
But he has a wonderful forgettor and very soon he 
went to dancing again and thought no more of it. 
And the period of his forgetfulness lasted ten days, 
during which time he also forgot many other things and 
continued to practise the hop flop. 

Nor would he ever have thought of that precise 
Measuring Worm again, had it not been for the won¬ 
derful event I am about to relate, and which so com¬ 
pletely stonished him that he continued in that state 
during the rest of his life, which was nine weeks and 
three days, for he lived to a great age. 

Now it happened that at the end of ten days Mr. 
Grasshopper was again practising the hop flop on 
that very spot where he had so often hop-flopped when 
he was younger, but having attained to middle age 
and having waxed fat, he no longer cavorted mightily 
but rested now and then. While he was resting, he 
caught sight of the fuzzy silk bag into which the Meas¬ 
uring Worm had disappeared and, through a hole in 
the top, a head was suddenly thrust out. 

[ 150 ] 


THE STONISHMENT OF MR. GRASSHOPPER 

“Who are you?” cried Mr. Grasshopper, who was 
so stonished that his behind feet kicked. 

The head disappeared into the bag without answer¬ 
ing and Mr* Grasshopper’s behind feet nearly hopped 
away with him. Presently the head was poked out of 
the hole again and the bulging eyes stared at him for 
a long time. 

“Well! can’t you say anything?’’ asked Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper, kicking away. 

“I don’t know who I am yet,’’ said the head. 

“Don’t know YET! When will you know?’’ 

“Tomorrow morning at precisely ten o’clock,’’ 
replied the head and disappeared again into the bag. 

Mr. Grasshopper was so completely stonished at 
this that his behind feet did really hop away with him 
and carried him to the blueberry pasture. 

Next morning he was back again in front of the 
silk bag with the hole in it. He could not tell when it 
was ten o’clock, so he came at five and waited. 

He waited till six and then his behind feet .began 
to kick. 

He waited till seven and then he said he knew it 
must be long after ten. 

He waited till eight and by that time he had for¬ 
gotten what he came for—by reason of his wonderful 
forgettor, you know. But his stonishment remained 
and he waited till nine, wondering what it was that 
had stonished him so. 

Suddenly the head appeared at the hole in the silk 
[ 151 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

bag and began to come out, followed by a body with 
some legs, and on each side of the body was a little 
shrivelled leaf. 

“It’s precisely ten o’clock,” said the head, looking 
at Mr. Grasshopper. “Am I much changed?” 

“Changed! How do I know?” cried Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper. “Who are you, anyway?” 

“I feel so changed I hardly know, myself,” said 
the head, rubbing its front hands on its face. “I’m 
a moth qow.” 

“NOW!” cried Mr. Grasshopper, trying to keep his 
behind feet still. “What were you before?” 

“A Measuring Worm, of course. But really you 
mustn’t ask me so many questions. I’m so faint.” 

Mr. Grasshopper was too stonished to say anything, 
and while he stood staring at the Moth the little shriv¬ 
elled leaves began to grow larger and larger before his 
very eyes and to change their color until they had 
turned into really-truly wings—brown with a white 
line across each one. 

“There! that’s done,” said the Moth. “How do 
they look?” 

“How did you do that?” asked Mr. Grasshopper, 
whose eyes stuck out of his head now with stonish- 
ment—simply with stonishment. 

“It just did itself. Don’t you ever change?” 

“Change my skin every Saturday night, of course,” 
said Mr. Grasshopper, “but I never change into any¬ 
thing else.” 


[ 152 ] 


THE STONISHMENT OF MR. GRASSHOPPER 

“How dull!” exclaimed the Moth. “Measuring 
Worms always do,” and, after slowly flapping its new 
wings, it suddenly flew away into the shade of the 
woods, while Mr. Grasshopper stared after it. And 
his stonishment lasted to the end of his life, though 
he lived to a great age. 


KIDNAPPED 

ISS BLACK ANT had left her cows and 
was on the way back to the nest. 
Her New England conscience obliged 
her to go to the bottom of every 
hole and run up and down all the 
grass stalks in her way—and there 
were many. Before she had gone far 
she knew that something unusual 
had happened. She didn’t feel it 
in her bones, being boneless; but 
she SMELLED red-ants—even so—and she began to run. 
This was on the third of August. 

When she reached the nest the smell was so strong 
it made her ill. Standing upon her hind legs she saw 
an army of red ants pouring into the main gate. Some 
blacks were fighting desperately with the reds; others 
were running frantically to and fro and signalling 
wildly. Miss Black Ant was deafened by the sound 
of their feet and suffocated by the dust and by the 
evil smell. 

Soon hundreds of blacks and reds were fighting and 
the ground became littered with legs and feelers. The 
ants always caught each other by the legs and when 
one leg was sawed off they took another. Some were 
limping about on four legs; some hobbled on three. 
Red ants with all their legs rushed past carrying black 
.heads on the ends of their feelers. Miss Black Ant 
grabbed one of these ants by the hind leg and began to 
chew. That head belonged to a very dear friend and 
It 154] 






KIDNAPPED 

Miss Black Ant chewed every leg but one off the red ant. 
Before she could remove that, three red ants caught 
her by three legs and pulled. They all pulled in dif¬ 
ferent directions and nearly tore her to pieces. When 
they stopped to rest she was so stretched that the small 
of her back was where her neck ought to have been, 
and before she could pull herself together a very large 
and very plain female red ant closed her jaws around 
the middle of her and carried her off as if she were a 
child. Miss Black Ant tried to wriggle herself loose, 
but the red ant’s jaws pinched so hard that she was 
doubled up in a ball. 

The very plain female with the strong jaws joined 
the line of marching reds that were coming out of 
the nest carrying eggs and black children. Every egg 
and every child in the nest was carried away and the 
long column of ants marched through the woods to 
the red ant-hill, which was as big as a bushel basket 
.with a simply-superb view from the top. Up the hill 
they went carrying all the blacks except those that had 
died for their country, and they brought only THEIR 
heads. These heads were fastened on to their legs 
or feelers and they had to wait for them to wear off. 
This took time and meanwhile they dragged them 
around like cannon balls. All doubled up with an acute 
pain, Miss Black Ant was carried down into the nest 
and let go. As soon as she had undoubled herself and 
unstretched her legs she tried to run away, but all the 
tunnels were guarded by red ants. 

[ 155 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


Every room was piled with eggs and children—like 
trunks in a baggage car—which the army had brought 
in. Two savage red ants ordered Miss Black Ant to sort 
the eggs and arrange them neatly. They each gave 
her a nip and told her to step lively or they’d bite her 
head off. Other black ants were told to wash the 
children’s faces and feed them, or they’d get THEIR 
heads taken off. So Miss Black Ant went to work sort¬ 
ing eggs in the dark. For a week the red ants con¬ 
tinued to bring in more eggs and black children from 
other nests. Sometimes they brought the old ants 
and these were set to work taking care of the eggs, 
feeding the children and washing their faces. 

When the eggs hatched Miss Black Ant carried out 
the shells and left them on the ant hill. Then she ran 
in again and began to wash the brand new children. 
She worked all the time and never thought of running 
away now, and this was exceeding strange and only 
to be explained by very bald medicine men. She forgot 
Mr. Grasshopper, she forgot her home, she forgot her 
name. She went on forgetting while she worked, until 
she had forgotten everything that happened before the 
day when she stood on her hind legs and saw the red 
ants marching up the hill and the very plain female 
had carried her off with an acute pain. 

She could think of nothing but eggs now; she had 
been hypnotized and nobody knows just what this 
means. All day long she turned them over and car¬ 
ried them from one place to another. That nest, you 
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see, was a kind of incubator. She worked in the dark, 
carrying eggs in her mouth through the long galleries 
from one room to the next, but she never grew tired at 
all. She couldn’t think of being tired because she could 
think of nothing but eggs. She worked like a steam 
shovel, only she made no noise and never got out of 
order. Her ball-bearing self-oiling jaws opened and 
seized an egg shell, her body turned on its legs and 
her legs moved like clock work and ran her out to the 
dump; the ball-bearing jaws dropped the egg shell and 
the clockwork legs ran her into the tunnel again. 

Red ants were also working on the dump bringing 
out sand and gravel from the tunnels which were 
being pushed far down under the hill, but they paid 
no attention to Miss Black Ant. She had become a slave 
and would go on carrying eggs and washing children’s 
faces as if she were a machine, and would never get 
out of order. 

One morning in September she was carrying egg¬ 
shells from the nest and dropping them on the dump 
as usual when Mr. Grasshopper came hopping that way. 

“Why, Miss Black Ant, what are you doing here?’’ 
asked he. 

“Don’t get in my way,” grumbled Miss Black Ant, 
without looking up to see who it was. 

“Why, what’s the matter with you, Miss Black 
Ant?” 

“Eggs! Eggs! Eggs!” muttered Miss Black Ant, 
hurrying out to the dump. “The world is jam chock 
- [159 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


full of eggs,” and turning like a machine, her legs 
ran her into the tunnel. 

Mr. Grasshopper was so stonished he waited for 
Miss Black Ant to come out again. 

“Where did you leave your cows?” he asked, when 
Miss Black Ant reappeared, moving rapidly with her 
mouth full of egg shells. 

“He means eggs,” mumbled Miss Black Ant to her¬ 
self. “Don’t you see where I leave them?” 

“I don’t mean eggs at all,” shouted Mr. Grass¬ 
hopper as Miss Black Ant hurried into the tunnel. 

Mr. Grasshopper waited again, his behind feet kick¬ 
ing with impatience, but Miss Black Ant did not come 
back. As he was peering into the tunnel to see what 
had become of her, a vast red ant snapped her jaws 
at him and he hopped away in haste. 

“Cows! Cows!” repeated Miss Black Ant as she 
sorted eggs below in the dark and turned them over, 
touching each one with her feelers to see if it was at 
the right temperature. “What did he mean by that?” 
And she continued to think of what Mr. Grasshopper 
had said, as she toiled day after day in the tunnels and 
galleries. The time came at last when she was allowed 
to leave the nest to go on the hunt. Roaming through 
the woods, wherever she found any particularly nourish¬ 
ing and wholesome food, such as a dead fly, she dragged 
it back to the ant hill. Now this is what she had done 
before she had been kidnaped and it had a peculiar 
effect upon her mind—only to be explained by a per- 
[ 160 ] 



KIDNAPPED 


fectly bald medicine man—for she came to think less 
and less about eggs, and more and more about what 
Mr. Grasshopper had said. She began to remember 
things—and then, suddenly, she recalled her cows 
browsing on the maple leaves, as they used to before 
the very large and very plain female red ant had car¬ 
ried her off with the acute pain. 

That instant she started for the maple tree where 
she had left her cows and she never returned to the red 
ant hill. 


i 


[ 161 ] 


SPOOKY 

E WAS round both ways like a shoe- 
button and he had no neck. His 
face, you see, being in the middle 
of his chest—or was it his back,— 
of course he had no need of a neck. 

Whether he had a head, or not, 
was a question. His third-or-fourth 
cousin, the lamented Miss Spider, 
had always said he was only a head 
on legs, and she didn’t like people 
with no bodies—there was nothing to them. So she 
had called him Spooky. Miss Black Ant said that 
Miss Spider’s third-or-fourth cousin was just a body 
without any head—a body on legs, It was silly enough, 
she said, not to have a head, but it was worse to have 
such long legs—it was stravagant. 

Head or no head, there was no doubt about his 
having a face and it always grinned. It grinned if it 
rained and it grinned if it shined; it grinned when he 
was fed and it grinned when he was hungry. 

“He’s just a grin,’’ said Mr. Grasshopper. 

“His legs are stravagant,” cried Miss Black Ant. 

He did have stravagant legs. They were thin as a 
hair and so long that he had two knees in each leg— 
at convenient places, so that he could double them up 
when there wasn’t room. When he walked, his knees 
—there were sixteen of ’em—wobbled so that he couldn’t 
always make his legs go where he wanted them to, so 

[ 162 ] 






{ 

SPOOKY 

he would pick up some of the longest and hold them 
over his head to rest himself. 

Spooky lived in the Middle-of-the-Woods where it 
was damp and grouzly, for he couldn’t bear the sun¬ 
shine. He never spoke to a soul or anything else that 
he met—he was that shy,—and he was the lonesomest 
bug in the woods. Yes, Spooky certainly was the 
lonesomest bug in the woods. He longed to talk to 
somebody but he hadn’t the courage to do it. When¬ 
ever he tried, it made his knees wobble, and so he ran 
away on his stravagant legs and every time he did that 
he felt more lonesome than ever. 

This wasn’t Spooky’s fault altogether, because they 
weren’t really his legs; they were his late grandfather’s 
and his late grandfather’s name was Daddy-long-legs. 
He inherited them, as the doctors would say, and with 
his grandfather’s legs what could he do but run away. 
And so Spooky had never spoken to anybody. He would 
like to have talked to Mr. Grasshopper and Miss Black 
Ant and to his cousin Miss Spider. More than once 
he had walked towards them as bold as a sheep, but 
the moment he looked at them his knees wobbled so 
that he was obliged to run away as fast as he could. 

“Gee! it’s lonesome!” said Spooky one morning 
as he wobbled on his stravagant legs. “It’s lonesome 
for little me,” and his head—or was it his body—his 
face, at any rate, went joggling up and down as if it 
were on springs, while his knees were up in the air 
above his head, which was the way he always walked 

[ 163 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

when he felt dismal. But even when he was dismal and 
dumpish he had to grin, because his face was made 
that way and it wouldn’t ungrin. You see, that was 
his late grandfather’s grin, which his late grandfather 
had left him with his legs. 

So Spooky went grinning on his stravagant legs, 
but he felt very low in his mind and his knees wobbled. 
He was so melancholy that he refused nourishment, 
and that’s hijjus melancholy; not a fly nor a bug did 
he eat, but all day long he wandered in the Middle- 
of-the-Woods. 

“I wish something would happen,” said he, and he 
wobbled to the hair-cap mosses where the little blue 
beetle lives, and stood grinning, but when the little 
blue beetle looked at him he ran away. Then he tot¬ 
tered to the leathery lichens, the home of the puffy 
pill bug and grinned at him, but when the puffy pill 
bug stared at him he made off. And he came at last 
to the inky mushrooms where lives the tiny fungus 
fly, grinning as before, but when the tiny fungus fly 
glared at him with his seven thousand eyes, he rushed 
away faster than ever. For Spooky’s knees they wob¬ 
bled and Spooky’s tongue was tied. 

And he never stopped till he came to where the 
polypod grows on the cold grey rocks. “I wish some¬ 
thing would happen,” said he again—and something 
did happen. For there sat four lovely maidens, all 
perfect-ladies with beautiful thin legs, wobbly knees 
and no necks. Each wore a grin and all looked pre- 
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SPOOKY 

cisely alike, so that they could not tell themselves apart. 
When they saw Spooky the four fell in love with his 
grin for what one did they all had to do, being precisely 
alike. 

Seeing the lovely maidens, Spooky started to run, 
but his knees wobbled so that they knocked together 
over his head and made a queer little noise, and when 
he he$rd the noise that his knees made he was paralyzed 
with fear. And Spooky was in great peril. 

The four lovely maidens with the beautiful thin 
legs looked at him and smirked their sweetest smirk 
and sighed, but Spooky could hear only the rattle of 
his knees. Yet they continued to sigh until at last 
they could contain their feelings no longer. 

“Me!” sighed the first maiden. 

“Me!” cooed the second. 

“Me!” warbled the third. 

“Be!” snuffled the fourth, who had a cold and had 
lost her pocket handkerchief. And the four faces with 
the four smirks joggled on the beautiful thin legs as 
if they were on springs. 

Then happened a strange thing, there in the 
Middle-of-the-Woods. Spooky was so terrified that 
he was desperate: something had to be done, and for 
the first time in his life his knees stopped wobbling. 
Bold as a sheep he looked at the first lovely maiden 

and opened his mouth to speak-but not a sound 

would come, not even a whisper. He stood on his 
tip toes; he straightened his knees; he joggled his 
[167] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

head, but not a sound came. Spooky was perfectly- 
noiseless—he had lost his tongue. 

“Me!” sighed the first lovely maiden again. 

“Me!” cooed the second. 

“Me!” warbled the third. 

“Be!” snuffed the fourth, with the cold. 

Spooky’s head sank between his sixteen knees and 
he lost all hope. Next day he renounced the world and 
was married to the four lovely maidens with the beauti¬ 
ful thin legs and no necks; for as they were exactly 
alike he could not tell them apart and so he had to 
marry them all. x 

He never found his tongue, but he had no need 
of it. Nor did he ever feel lonesome again, for the four 
lovely wives talked all the time, even when they had 
colds, and would not have heard him if he had said 
anything. 


[ 168 ] 




CHICKAREE 

T IS well to know what isn’t so, for 
then you can read the Sunday 
papers and understand them. Now 
here are some facts of unnatural 
history that may be of use to you. 
This is the story of a red squirrel 
named Chickaree and it’s just as 
true as any unnatural history you 
have ever read. 

He was born on the third of 
April, A.D. 1909, at four A.M. Eastern time, the sun 
being in the sign of Gemini and the moon in con¬ 
junction with Saturn, by reason, of which he was 
destined to think very well of himself and to make a 
noise in the world. 

Chickaree was perfectly DElighted to be born. 
As soon as he had one eye open he looked around him 
and said, “Isn’t this bully?’’ When his mother heard 
this, she was so tickled and pleased she bit a piece off 
of his left ear as a mark of her affection. 

In his infancy Chickaree attended the Common 
School of the Woods, of which everybody has heard 
who has studied unnatural history. There he learned 
how to keep his eyes open and how to find the way to 
his mouth. When he was three months old he entered 
the Tree Tops Academy for Young Beasts, where he 
learned to climb up and down the trunk of a tree, to 
jump from one branch to another, to open a nut so as 
to get at the meat, and to strip the scales off of a spruce 

[169] 






HALF-TRUE STORIES 


cone. He learned also to use his tail as a rudder and to 
make signs with it; where to look for birds’ eggs and 
which mushrooms are good to eat and which are not. 
He acquired the use of his nose, his teeth and his tail, 
and these are the highest branches, taught to advanced 
classes only. 

Before he was born Chickaree learned to swim and 
that’s genius. Geniuses always learn things before 
they are born—to save time. He knew a ruffed grouse 
wouldn’t hurt him and a horned owl would. He knew 
about Mr. Skunk’s special perfumery and Old Man 
Porcupine’s tail; he learned all this before he was born— 
but he never learned to hold his tongue, and this is 
perfectly good unnatural history. 

When he was one year old he was sure that he knew 
all there was to know and a great deal more than any¬ 
one else did, so he decided to run away from school 
and see the world—which was an error. 

He had never been away from the home woods, a 
little patch on the hillside where his Ma and Pa had 
always lived and he wanted to see what there was in the 
swamp beyond the pond. He had learned all the broad 
jumps in the home woods and, having been born when 
the moon was in conjunction with Saturn and the Sun 
in the sign of Gemini, he thirsted for adventure. 

“You are young, my son, to start out by yourself,” 
said his Pa, “and this is a very wicked world. But you 
have run away from school and made a good beginning 
[170] 


CHICKAREE 

and I hope you will be able to steal enough to get along. 
Above all things, be careful not to lose your tail!” 

“You are a good boy,” said his mother, “and a born 
thief. Eat plenty of eggs to keep up your strength, 
and be sure to look out for Miss Weazel. She is small 
and slim with the head of a serpent and the most evil 
heart in the woods, and she drinks nothing but blood.” 

Chickaree promised to be careful of his tail and said 
he would eat all the eggs he could find to build up his 
strength. But he said HE wasn’t afraid of Miss Weazel 
and if he ever saw Miss Weazel he’d show her. 

So Chickaree ate a robin’s egg for breakfast, said 
goodbye to his Ma and Pa, gave his tail a whisk and 
set out to see the world. Being such a bright boy for 
his age he made as much noise as he could, so that 
everybody in the home woods knew where he was, and 
from cracks and holes and from under leaves, sharp 
eyes watched him, but no one made a sound and 
Chickaree had lots of fun. 

“That boy makes more noise than a fool dog,” 
complained Mr. Skunk, who never makes any noise at 
all. 

“He can’t help it,” said Old Man Porcupine. “He 
takes after his mother.” 

Chickaree was satisfied with the noise he made 
and ran up and down and to and fro, hung by his hind 
feet and took prodijjus leaps in the air. When he had 
done this he always sat up with his tail over his head 

[171] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


and made a sound like an alarm clock, which gave 
him true inward delight. 

But Little Bun said, “I wish Miss Weazel would 
skin that boy,” and Miss Crow said, “Amen.” 

Now Chickaree, being such a bright boy, had a 
healthy curiosity and wherever he went in the woods 
he took his healthy curiosity with him and had lots 
of fun investigating things. Every time he investi¬ 
gated anything new he sat up and went off like an 
alarm clock and was greatly pleased with himself; but 
every body said—“Why don’t his mother keep him at 
home?” 

He poked his head into every hole and stuck his 
paw into every crack; ate plenty of eggs as he had 
promised his Ma and was careful of his tail, as his Pa 
had told him to be. And his strength being built up 
by reason of the eggs, he made more noise than ever. 
Mrs. Yellow Warbler, Mrs. Redeye and Miss Crow 
were filled with wrath. Their bosoms heaved prodijjus 
and they agreed that Chickaree was nothing but a 
fuzzy-tailed rat and they hoped Miss Weazel WOULD 
skin him. Chickaree had no friends, but he didn’t 
know it, and continued to have lots of fun and to 
think how bright he was for his age. 

And the number of his years being two and having 
investigated everything in the home woods, Chickaree 
was no longer happy, saying to himself that he must see 
Miss Weazel or bust—his very words. 

So he inquired of Mr. Gray Squirrel: “Say, Mister, 
[172] 



CHICKAREE 

where does Miss Weazel live?” And Mr. Gray Squirrel 
said, “You go home to your Ma, Johnnie!” 

But Chickaree whisked his tail and skipped through 
the woods till he came to Old Man Porcupine, and he 
said to him: 

“Say, old Pintail, where can I find Miss Weazel?” 
But Old Man Porcupine only muttered, “Pooh! pooh! 
don’t bother me!” 

Then Chickaree frisked through the woods till he 
came to Little Bun, and he said: “Say, little rabbit, 
do you know where Miss Weazel lives?” 

“Yes,” said Little Bun, “she lives in a stone pile on 
the hill beyond the swamp and you ought to go and 
see her. You’ll know her by her pleasant smile.” 

“What color is she?” asked Chickaree. 

“She’s a beautiful brown,” Little Bun replied and 
slapped his hind foot on the ground—so! 

“I ain’t afraid of her,” said Chickaree and he started 
for the hill beyond the swamp to look for Miss Weazel, 
making as much noise as he could. 

As there were no eggs, he bit off the cones of the 
white pine and threw them to the ground. Then he 
carried them to a stump and gnawed the scales to get 
the seeds, as he had learned to do in the Tree Tops 
Academy for Young Beasts. Some, he hid in the 
roots of a tree. He was DElighted with the swamp. 
“It’s a bully place!” said he, and he took prodijjus 
leaps in the trees and had heaps of fun frisking about 
on his way to the hill where Miss Weazel lived. He 

[173] 


HALF-TRUfe STORIES 

saw no one but Miss Crow, who only said “Stop your 
noise, Bub!” But he failed utterly to comprehend 
her point of view. 

While he wandered in the swamp the wind changed 
to nor-nor-east and Chickaree warmed his pats in his 
fur and laughed. 

The snow came swizzling over the ground and 
swirling round the corners, the wind whistled and 
moaned and everybody else went to bed, but he, being 
such a bright boy and having such a healthy curiosity, 
chippered and chuckled and laughed prodijjus and was 
DElighted with the storm. 

But the snow whirled and swirled, till the bay- 
berries were covered and little trees bent to the ground 
and Chickaree sank out of sight at every jump. When 
he found he could no longer skip in the snow nor walk, 
nor even crawl, he was in a rage and used orful lan¬ 
guage and said all the horrid swear words he had learned 
at the Tree Tops Academy for Young Beasts. 

“Stop it!” he cried to the snow, twisting his tail 
into all kind of shapes in his rage. “Stop it, I tell 
you!” But the snow kept falling, falling and burying 
the woods inch by inch and hour after hour. And 
all the sound it made as the snowflakes drifted through 
the hemlock needles was a ghostly whisper. 

Chickaree fussed and said horrid swear words till 
his feet were freezing and his tail was stiff with the 
cold, and then he had to go into the hole in the roots 
of the tree, where he had hidden the pine cones; but 
[174] 





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CHICKAREE 

the snow kept falling hour after hour with its ghostly 
whisper, until every crack and hole was filled and the 
high blueberry bushes were covered. That night there 
came a crust over the snow like the crust of a pie. 

So Chickaree crouched in a corner and continued 
to use orful language. It was dark and lonesome and 
made him fidgety and he drummed with his feet and 
wished he could get out to go and look for Miss Weazel. 
He said to himself—“I ain’t afraid of her,” but he had 
to make a noise to keep from getting low in his mind. 

While he was making all the noise he could, he 
suddenly smelled an evil odor, such as he had never 
smelled before, and in that instant he felt someone was 
watching him. Turning like a flash he saw in the dim 
light two points of fire which he knew to be eyes and a 
slim little head with a long thin neck, like the neck of 
a serpent, and the head and the neck were white as 
snow. The slim head was swaying slowly to and fro 
on the long thin neck and the burning eyes were fixed 
on him. 

“Stop staring at me!” screamed Chickaree, who was 
frightened for the first time in his life, and the head 
disappeared without a sound. He hated that place 
now and those eyes, and especially that long neck, and 
being such a bright boy for his age, he tried to get out, 
but he couldn’t find the hole. The cold was hijjus and 
he grew low in his mind, for the thought of the little 
burning eyes and the snaky neck—especially the neck— 
kept troubling him so that he wriggled and couldn’t 

[177] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

sit still. He stood for a long time with his head over 
his shoulder peering into the darkness to see if there 
wasn’t some one behind him. When he turned around 
at last, there were the two little fiery eyes again and 
the slim head. 

“If there’s anything I can’t stand,” said the head, 
with a snarl, swaying to and fro on the long neck, 
“it’s a fussy man.” 

“W-h-h-h-a-t d’you say?” stammered Chickaree, 
who had heard very well. 

“Or a fool boy,” said the head with another snarl. 

“I ain’t done nothin’ to you,” cried Chicakree. 

“I’d like to skin ’em alive,” the head went on, 
coming nearer and nearer and swaying more rapidly. 
The lips were drawn back from the teeth and Chickaree 
felt the little fiery eyes were boring into him. He 
tried to look away but he couldn’t move his eyes and 
he felt his strength oozing out. 

“I ain’t done nothin’—” he stammered again, but 
his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Nearer and nearer came the swaying head and the 
burning eyes were paralyzing him. Then the mouth 
opened with a snarl and the thin white neck shot for¬ 
ward like a flash. 

With a scream Chickaree dashed into the air—and 
heard the jaws snap behind him. He never knew how 
he got out of that hole. He did not pause until he found 
himself at the top of a tall tree in the swamp, where he 
crept in between the roots and sticks of an old hawk’s 
[178] 


CHICKAREE 

nest. Somewhere in the rear he felt a sharp pain 
and tried to whisk his tail, but it wouldn’t whisk. 
Again he tried and turned to see what was the matter— 
the tail was gone. 

“Gee!” cried Chickaree, “I’ll catch it now. That 
must have been Miss Weazel.” 

Next day he watched for hours before he dared to 
put out his head. The snow was melting in the sun 
and he crawled up into the nest and looked about. 
There was a pain where his tail had been and Chickaree 
wondered if he really was such a bright boy for his age. 
It is wonderful what a pain will do for a boy. He tried 
to make a noise, but he couldn’t do it without his tail. 
This is a very sad story, but it’s the best unnatural his¬ 
tory. There was nothing left of Chickaree when the 
tail and the noise were gone, but the gone feeling itself, 
and he was ashamed to go back to his Ma and Pa. 

“Anyhow!” he said to himself, “I stole all the 
eggs I could,” and it made him a little happier to 
think that he had done something to please his dear 
Ma. 

He felt a good deal the way Mr. Dog did after Mr. 
Skunk had sprinkled him with his special perfumery. 
His only wish was that he might not be seen. Finding 
a hole in the tree, he crept out only now and then to 
get a nut when he thought no one was looking. But 
he could not take prodijjus leaps without his tail and 
was obliged to creep carefully along the branches. 
It was hard for him to get enough to eat. 

[179] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“What’s become of that fool boy that made such 
a noise?’’ asked Mr, Skunk. 

“He was looking for Miss Weazel,” said Old Man 
Porcupine. “Perhaps he found her.’’ 

One spring day Miss Screech Owl found Chickaree’s 
hole in the tree and decided to make a nest there. 

“Some little beast has left his bones here,” said 
she, and cast them out of the hole. 


[ 180 ] 


THE 

SMALLISH THUNDER-DEVIL 

HE witch hazel was in bloom, all 
crinckly and yellow* the hills were 
blue and the pond was blue. All 
the little November spiders were 
flying their first balloons and the 
smoky air was full of gossamer 
threads, when Mr. Ruffed Grouse 
thought of spring—of many springs 
—and stole away to the drumming 
place. This drumming place was a 
punky hemlock log on a hillside, and Mr. Ruffed Grouse 
stood on the punky hemlock log and drummed— THUMP! 

—THUMP!—THUMP!-THUMP! THUMP! TH-R-R-R-R-R- 

R-R-R-R-R!!! and the woods echoed with the sound of 
his drumming. 

Little Bun heard it, Mr. Skunk heard it, Old Man 
Porcupine and the Chickadees and they all said—“Why 
it sounds like Spring!” 

THUMP!—THUMP!—THUMP!-THUMP!!-THUMP!! 

- TH-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R !!! drummed Mr. Ruffed 

Grouse on his log. 

“How does he do it?” asked Little Bun. 

“He must drum like a woodpecker,” answered 
Mr. Skunk. 

“Pooh! Pooh!” muttered Old Man Porcupine. 
“He puffs himself up like a frog.” 

“Perhaps,” said Little Bun, “he hits a log with his 
hind foot.” 






HALF-TRUE STORIES 


But no one in the woods knew who HE was, and in 
their hearts they believed the most mysterious sound 
was made by some smallish Thunder Devil. If it was 
done by a beast, why had no one ever seen him. Only, 
Little Bun—being a cocious rabbit’s child—was doubtful 
of Smallish Thunder-Devils. 

“I’m going to watch for him,” said he to himself 
one day, wobbling his cocious nose. But he kept his 
own council and appeared to be thinking of other things, 
which was perfectly natural. But Chickaree who had 
been such a bright boy for his age with a very healthy 
curiosity, could have told him that he had hunted 
through the woods all of one spring and had never 
discovered anyone. And Chucky, who had wondered 
about everything twice, had often heard the strange 
noise and always said to his very fat Pa—“I wonder 
what that is,” to which his very fat Pa as regularly 
replied, that it was a good place to wonder. 

Sitting in his brush pile next day, Little Bun 
heard the strange drumming again, afar off in the 
woods. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!—THUMP!! THUMP!! 
TH-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R- !!! And he set out by devious 
ways to find it. Be it known once and for all that a 
cocious rabbit’s child never proceeds in a straight line, 
for he knows very well that the longest way round is 
the shortest distance between two points. 

Little Bun hopped through the woods in the direc¬ 
tion of the most-mysterious sound, but the sound kept 
ahead of him and whenever he arrived at the spot whers 

[ 182 ] 


THE SMALLISH THUNDER-DEVIL 

it seemed to be, it was always somewhere else. “That’e 
curious,” x said Little Bun, as he wobbled his nose and 
sniffed the air, and his cocious nose brought him a 
variety of smells—Mr. Skunk’s, Old Man Porcupine’s, 
and the heathen odor of Mr. Blacksnake, which is un¬ 
like all others and brings fear to the heart of a rabbit’s 
child, And mixed with these was the smell of Mr. 
Ruffed Grouse. 

Little Bun scratched his ear with his behind foot, 
pondering bunnywise, and continued in the direction 
of the most-mysterious sound. He crossed the trail 
of Mr. Blacksnake, which was like the trail of a garden 
hose, and the number ten track of Old Man Porcupine; 
and every now and then he saw the tracks of Mr. Ruffed 
Grouse, who turns in his toes, but the most mysterious 
sound was always somewhere else and Little Bun was 
no wiser. 

The crinkly yellow flowers of the witch hazel faded 
and fell, as crinkly yellow flowers will. Snow covered 
the ground and Mr. Ruffed Grouse put on his snow 
shoes and walked over the heads of Chucky and his 
very fat Pa, as he hunted for partridge-berries, but he 
drummed no more that year and Little Bun thought 
of other things. 

One morning in April when the hylas were singing 
by the pond and the leopard frogs were snoring, Mr. 
Ruffed Grouse stole away to his drumming place and 
stood upon his punky hemlock log and drummed— 
THUMP! THUMP! THUMPJ-THUMP!! THUMP!!— 

[ 183 ] 



HALF-TRUE STORIES 

/ 

T H-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R- !!! Little Bun heard him 
and Old Man Porcupine and Mr. Skunk and likewise 
Mr. Blacksnake, who hears with his tongue, and in 
their hearts they believed it was some smallish Thun¬ 
der Devil. Only Little Bun had doubts, saying to him¬ 
self, “But how does he do it: how does he do it?—and 
what’s a Smallish Thunder-Devil, anyhow?” and he 
wobbled his cocious nose and set out by devious ways 
to discover if he could, what in the nature of things 
such a devil might be like—while in his heart he dis¬ 
believed. 

But the most mysterious sound seemed to wander 
about. When he listened it was silent. Day after 
day he scoured the woods and was no wiser—and al¬ 
most he was persuaded to believe in Smallish Thunder- 
Devils. Yet one thing stuck in the mind of the rabbit’s 
child; whenever he hunted for the most-mysterious 
sound his nose brought him the smell of Mr. Ruffed 
Grouse. “Perhaps,” said Little Bun, “he’s looking for 
it too,” and bunny wise he conceived the idea of watch¬ 
ing Mr. Ruffed Grouse to see what HE was watching— 
and this was perfectly natural. 

Now it was no easy thing to keep an eye on Mr. 
Ruffed Grouse, he being of a nervous temperament, 
and they who run to and fro in the woods hear only the 
prodij jus whir of his wings—the same being most alarm¬ 
ing—and see a ball of feathers hurtling through the air 
like a bomb. 

Little Bun spent much time, yet owing to the ner- 
[ 184 ] 


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THE SMALLISH THUNDER-DEVIL 

vous temperament all he saw was the ball of feathers. 
One day,, however, he came to a log in the woods—a 
punky hemlock log it was—and the smell of Mr. Ruffed 
Grouse hung around that place so that Little Bun 
stopped as if he had been hit. 

“So!” said he. “So!” and he scratched his ear with 
his behind foot and settled himself for a nap. And 
presently he slept—with one eye open. He slept 
many hours—one eye being open—for time is nothing 
to a rabbit, and then appeared Mr. Ruffed Grouse, 
walking proudly towards the punky hemlock log. 
With the back of his head he saw Little Bun’s cocious 
nose wobbling and immediately turned and began 
hunting for patridge berries, as if that was what he had 
come for and he had expected to find a rabbit there. 
He was secretly troubled, however, to find anyone at 
his drumming place—most particularly a boy. 

“How you’ve grown,” said he, looking at Little Bun. 
“Why you’re nearly as tall as your father was.” 

“Do you think so?” said Little Bun, with a foolish 
grin. 

“You’re very tall for your age,” Mr. Ruffed Grouse 
went on, glancing nervously around. “Seems like I 
smell Mr. Fox.” 

“Huh! Mr. Dog killed Mr. Fox,” said Little Bun, 
wobbling his nose. 

“Then it must be Miss Weazel. Yes, surely it’s 
Miss Weazel. I believe she lives in that log.” 

“I don’t smell anything,” said Little Bun. 

[187] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

“You must have a cold in your head,” said Mr. 
Ruffed Grouse, looking at him sharply. “Doesn’t 
your throat hurt you?” 

“No it don’t,” replied Little Bun, swallowing to 
see if it did. 

“O, but it must,” Mr. Ruffed Grouse insisted. 
“Your eyes are swollen too, you shouldn’t sit in such 
a damp place.” 

“’Tis’nt damp, I like it.” 

“What did you say you were hunting for, boy?” 

“Wasn’t hunting for anything,” said Little Bun. 
“Least it wasn’t anything much.” 

“Just looking around. See anything?” 

“I wonder who makes that noise.” 

“Noise? I don’t hear any. A cold in the head 
makes the ears rumble.” 

“I don’t mean now,” said Little Bun, putting his 
behind foot over his ear to see if it rumbled. 

“There was once a boy—of your size he was, and 
curious about things that did not concern him. And 
this boy also went spying about—and came back with¬ 
out his ears. Such is the report. They were large 
ears like yours.” 

“But I’d like to see him do it,” said Little Bun to 
himself. 

“My advice to you,” Mr. Ruffed Grouse went on, 
puffing out his feathers and shaking his head; “my 
advice to you is to take care of your ears,” and he strut¬ 
ted away and presently was heard the whir of his wings. 
[ 188 ] 






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THE SMALLISH THUNDER-DEVIL 

“So!” said Little Bun as he went hopping through 
the woods, his ears flopping, “I wonder what HE’S 
looking for.” And the desire to know Mr. Ruffed 
Grouse’s secret was strong upon him and gave him no 
rest—which comes of having a cocious nose. 

Now the straordinary cociousness of a rabbit’s child 
is not to be described,—it passeth understanding. Little 
Bun pondered these things bunny-wise and the more 
he pondered, the more he disbelieved in smallish Thun¬ 
der-Devils, and was resolved to keep an eye on Mr. 
Ruffed Grouse—he being of a nervous temperament 
—and also to take good care of his ears. 

Thus it came to pass that Little Bun saw what no 
one else had seen and it happened in this wise: 

The witch hazel was in bloom again, the hills were 
blue and the pond was blue. All the little November 
spiders were flying their first balloons and the smoky 
air was full of gossamer threads, when Mr. Ruffed 
Grouse thought of spring and stole away to his drum¬ 
ming place. And Mr. Ruffed Grouse saw that he was 
alone except for the ants who tell" no tales. Only he 
saw with the back of his head a little brownish-greyish 
stump covered with lichens. The little stump was 
motionless, as befits a stump covered with lichens, and, 
owing to the direction of the wind, it had no smell. 

Thereupon Mr. Ruffed Grouse being at peace with 
himself and knowing no fear, stood upon his punky 
hemlock log and beat the air with his wings— THUMP!! 
THUMP ! ! THUMP!!—THUMP ! ! THUMP ! ! —TH-R-R-R-R- 

[191] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

R-R-R-R-R-R!!! and the woods echoed with his 
drumming. Mr. Skunk heard it, and Old Man Porcu¬ 
pine and Mr. Chickadee and they all said, “Why it 
sounds like spring!” Also Little Bun heard it, but 
h<* said nothing. 

Mr. Grouse drummed again and again and having 
relieved his feelings in this manner—he being of a 
nervous temperament—got down from his log and 
strutted away. 

And thereupon happened a strange thing, for up 
jumped a small brownish-greyish stump covered with 
lichens which had been without motion, as befits a 
stump, and began to wobble what seemed a nose. And 
having wobbled what seemed a nose, this small stump 
became possessed of legs—front pats and hind pats— 
and bunny-wise, began to dance.' 


[ 192 ] 


THE END OF THE WORLD 

\RLY in the morning of the first 
Tuesday after the second Friday in 
April, Queen Bumblebee awoke and 
rubbed her eyes, which took an hour 
and a quarter—her eyes being too- 
numerous-to-mention. 

“It feels like Tuesday,” said the 
Queen drowsily, when she had got¬ 
ten some of them open. “I must 
have been asleep.” 

“What does this mean!” she cried excitedly a 
moment later, rubbing away and buzzing to call some 
one. “Where’s that bumble-puppy the King? Where 
are all my people?” 

The truth of the matter is that in the previous 
November her Majesty, and all of her subjects, had 
fallen asleep under the leaves where they had crept to 
try and keep warm, and she was the only one to awaken 
on this first Tuesday morning after the second Friday 
in April. The others had frozen to death, this being an 
established custom among the Bumblebee people. 

The Queen buzzed and buzzed, but there being 
no one else alive of course no one came. 

“Here it is Tuesday and nothing done,” cried she. 
“I shall have to see to this at once.” Having rubbed 
all of her eyes she was wide awake now and trembling 
with excitement. “There’s no time to lose,” she cried 
as she scurried about looking for her people, “not a 
minute, not a second!” 



[ 193 ] 





HALF-TRUE STORIES 


No Bumblebees were to be seen, however, and the 
Queen was in a frenzy. “It’s shameful!” she shrieked. 
“I must find another house before night and I hate 
house hunting,” and buzz she went, after the manner 
of royal personages among Bumblebee people, into 
every crack, bumping her head and stirring up the 
dust and bits of dry leaves like a small cyclone. “It’s 
getting late,” she screamed and just then she buzzed 
into a hole under a log and suffered a head-on-collision 
with a small toad who was sitting in his doorway. 

“I’m not at home,” said the small toad, rubbing 
his nose with a clammy hand. 

“Stupid!” cried Her-Majesty-the-Queen, picking 
herself up. 

“The lady of the house is not at home, either,” 
said the small toad, staring at her till his eyes stuck 
out of his head. 

“Stupid!” cried the Queen again. “Don’t you 
know a queen when you see her ?—and I’ve lost my fam¬ 
ily—and here it is Tuesday—and something must be 
done—there’s no time to lose—and—!!” 

“But,” began the small toad, mildly. 

“No one to be found,” shrieked the Queen, franti¬ 
cally. “If you had any sense—you’d see—a lone woman 
—such impudence, and it’s getting late—late—late—!!!” 

“If—” began the small toad again. 

“O, don’t talk to me—the idea!—anybody with 
any sense—!” But at this moment the small toad 
shut his eyes and shuffled out of his hole, hopping off 
[194] 


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THE END OF THE WORLD 

as fast as he could, and the Queen was left alone. 
“Did you ever see such a stupid creature!” she ex¬ 
claimed. “I merely asked him a civil question.” 

The toad having disappeared, Her Majesty buzzed 
into the hole. 

“Why this is just the place!” cried she, rubbing 
the dust from an eye and looking around. “I must 
get settled.” 

So she tore through the woods, slam-banging into 
the flowers one after another, collecting bread—bee 
bread, you know,—with some honey to eat with it, 
which she brought back in little baskets on her legs. 
As soon as she had enough, she laid an honorable egg in 
this bread and honey and rushed out for another supply. 

Now there were those who watched her as she 
came and went intent upon her affairs; a sharp-eyed 
little bee—too lazy to build a house of her own, a long- 
nosed beetle and a brown moth, all lazy good-for- 
nothing critters. When the Queen was away filling 
her baskets, one by one they stole into the house, 
where the impudent things actually laid eggs in the 
pile of bread and honey. Then they laughed in their 
sleeves at the low down joke they had played on royalty 
and stole away—one by one. 

Having laid honorable eggs, her Majesty went on a 
journey across the pasture and into the woods on the 
other side of the hill, where she was caught in a butter¬ 
fly net by the Terrible Boy, who put her in a bottle and 
carried her off. And she abode in that bottle some 

[197] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

days in a state of mind, till the Terrible Boy being 
moved to examine his capture, dropped the cover and 
the Queen escaped. 

Circling in the air, she turned and flew straight over 
the hill and through the woods to the hole under the 
log s buzzed in at the door—and stopped, as a long- 
nosed beetle poked out his beetle black head and looked 
at her inquiringly. 

As she stood looking at the childish face of the 
beetle something began to come out of a cocoon, a 
brown moth if you please. Then two black heads ap¬ 
peared and out stepped two little bees, but they weren’t 
bumblebees at all. 

“Why, you are not my children!” cried the Queen, 
in a rage. “Where on earth did you come from?” 

But the long-nosed beetle, the brown moth and the 
two little bees didn’t know. They just found them¬ 
selves there, and the Queen was so big and hummed 
in such a ferociable manner that they were frightened 
to death. 

“Where did YOU come from?” she demanded again, 
and she looked as big as a mouse there in the doorway. 

“Please ma’am, we don’t know,” said one little bee. 

“Don’t know! then get out of here—all of you!” 

“Please ma’am, we can’t get out,” said the other 
little bee. 

“Can’t get out! Why can’t you?” 

“Please ma’am, cause you’re so big,” said both 
little bees together. 


[ 198 ] 


THE END OF THE WORLD 

It was true. Her Majesty completely filled the 
doorway. 

With a great deal of buzzing she backed out and the 
long-nosed beetle, the brown moth and the two little 
bees followed timidly. As soon as they were outside 
all four flew away. 

The Queen buzzed into the hole again and behold 
—four heads poking out of four holes in the bread and 
honey. Rushing up to them she looked at each one. 
Surely these were her children, her own children. 
She hummed with pleasure as the little worms wriggled 
about—young bees are always worms, you know; it’s 
an established custom—and began spinning cocoons 
around themselves. When they had spun themselves 
out of sight she went to work covering the little cocoons 
with wax. And thenceforth Her Majesty laid honorable 
eggs daily. 

At this time there was much activity in that region 
among the various Bee people and their cousins, the 
Wasps. Building was going on on every hand. Up¬ 
holsterer Bees were excavating in the black cap rasp¬ 
berry stems and making cells of silk within. In the 
stems of sumacs Leaf-cutter Bees were building rooms 
of wild rose leaves. Mason Bees were at work under¬ 
ground, while from a rotten stump nearby, Hornets 
brought material for a palatial rain-proof hotel, and 
the rooms were being taken as fast as they were finished. 
Wood Wasps and Mud Wasps were preserving spiders 
for infant food and stocking their houses. Gallflies 

[199] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 

were puncturing leaves and laying eggs in them. Hunt¬ 
ing Spiders ran here and there in the grass looking for 
game. It was a year of bumper crops. There was a 
boom in the building trade and all the world was at 
work moving the crops or building houses and store¬ 
rooms; and part of the world was overeating. 

In this hour of prosperity, when the world waxed 
fat and the hum of industry filled the air, the Terrible 
Boy arose and girded up his loins and said unto him¬ 
self, “I will play Indian, that will I, and will have a 
camp fire in the woods and will make war whoops to 
beat the band.” 

Thus said the Terrible Boy in the pride of youth 
and having taken, most surreptitious, a box of Surpass¬ 
ing Safety Matches (none genuine without the label) 
he strode into the woods, munching as he strode an 
apple of an incomparable greenness. And by his side 
stalked Destiny. 

“Here,” quoth he, standing with godlike unconcern 
over the very home of Queen Bumblebee, and just under 
the palatial rainproof hotel of the Hornets, every room 
of which was now taken,—“is a bully place.” 

“A bully place!” echoed Destiny by his side. 

Thereupon the Terrible Boy took from his bulging 
pockets another apple and straightway began piling 
sticks over the happy home of Queen Bumblebee. 
This done he surveyed his work with godlike glance 
as he consumed the core, and drawing from his pocket 
the box of Surpassing Safety Matches (none genuine 
[ 200 ] 


THE END OF THE WORLD 

without the label) he struck them one by one and 
two by two, holding them to the brush pile, till a thin 
blue curl of smoke ascended to the heavens. 

“Well done!” quoth Destiny, stalking at his side. 

When the Terrible Boy saw the smoke, he was 
filled with savage joy, and taking yet another apple, 
greener than the last, he capered about the fire in the 
pride of youth, whooping like mad. Said he, “I’m a 
Comanche Chief and my name is Yellow Jacket.” 

“’Tis well!” quoth Destiny, capering at his side. 

As the smoke rose and the flames crackled it be¬ 
came most atrocious hot in the palatial rain-proof 
hotel of the Hornets, and presently they who had rooms 
on the first floor issued thence in ruffled mood complain¬ 
ing of the weather, and two of them—lady hornets, 
they were—alighted on the freckled nose of Yellow 
Jacket the Comanche Chief, still capering and whooping 
between bites. And as they sat upon his nose their 
tails were hot—O hijjus hot—, so that he abandoned 
his care-free godlike mien and, letting fall the apple, 
clapped his hand upon his freckled nose and made 
war whoops anew; and these whoopings came from the 
very depths of his savage soul and smote upon the air. 
And Yellow Jacket returned forthwith to the home of 
his fathers. 

With a rumbling and a crackling and a hissing and 
a sputtering which brought terror to all the world, the 
flames leapt to the heavens. A sizzle and a flash, like 
the sputter of a Surpassing Safety Match (none genuine 

[ 201 ] 


HALF-TRUE STORIES 


without the label) and the palatial rain-proof hotel 
was burned to a crisp. 

The world was on fire, the ground cracked and 
opened, a pall of black smoke obscured the sun and out 
of the lurid sky fell a rain of ashes. 

Terror spread among the Bee peoples as the roar 
and crackle of the flames increased and leaves and 
grass shrivelled and were consumed. Masons, car¬ 
penters and upholsterers left their work and rushed 
frantically about, calling to each other that the world 
was coming to an end. Many took to their wings 
only to be suffocated in the smoke and to fall back 
into the flames, their wings destroyed. Not one es¬ 
caped. From beneath a stone a stream of meadow- 
ants issued rapidly, heroically carrying eggs and young 
children in their mouths, but were overcome by the 
fiery heat in tens and thousands. 

The last to leave her post, Queen Bumblebee ap¬ 
peared at the entrance to her home, unable to endure 
any longer the scorching heat below. At the door lay 
the seared and blackened body of the little toad. “The 
world is coming to an end!” cried she, “O my poor 
children!” and these were the last words she spoke. 

Presently the smoke cleared away and the fire 
burned low. The roar and crackle ceased and all was 
still. Only a few glowing embers in a mound of ashes 
were left to tell where the world had been. 

Alone in the silence, Destiny stood and gazed upon 
the ruin. “ ’Tis done!” quoth he. 

[ 202 ] 



HERE ENDS HALF-TRUE STORIES FOR LITTLE 
FOLKS OF JUST THE RIGHT AGE BY STANTON 
DAVIS KIRKHAM, PUBLISHED BY PAUL ELDER AND 
COMPANY IN THE CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO, AND 
SEEN THROUGH THEIR TOMOYE PRESS BY HERMAN 
A. FUNKE IN THE MONTH OF SEPTEMBER AND 
THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN 



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BOOKS by STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM 

NORTH AND SOUTH 
OUTDOOR PHILOSOPHY 
EAST AND WEST 
RESOURCES 
MEXICAN TRAILS 

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SELF HELP 
THE MINISTRY OF BEAUTY 

WHERE DWELLS THE SOUL SERENE 
IN THE OPEN 








I ■ V- 


NATURE BOOKS By 


IN THE OPEN 

“A nature book of such unusual literary charm that it deserves to be 
ranked well above most of the more homely out-of-door studies of 
recent years.” 

—New York Times. 

‘‘No other American naturalist, unless it be Thoreau, has ever quite 
surpassed this writer in sensitive register of nature’s myriad moods.” 

—Chicago Illustrated Review. 

‘‘Through intimate companionship he reaches a power of delicate 
characterization unique even among trained nature-lovers.” 

—The Dial. 

“This is not only a very beautiful book, but one of fascinating interest 
as well.” 

—Rochester Herald. 

» 

EAST AND WEST 

“Because he has ably and truthfully set forth the poetic value of our 
great national heritage, Mr. Kirkham has performed a truly patriotic 
service.” 

—New York Sun. 

“A nature book of more than ordinary charm.” 

/ —New York Times. 

‘‘Destined to take its place not only as one of the best nature books of 
the season, but one of the few good books produced in these days of 
much writing on nature subjects.” 

—Boston Herald. 







STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM 


OUTDOOR PHILOSOPHY 

“Abounds in quiet suggestions of how life might be ordered to secure 
more good to the individual and to society.” 

—Boston Transcript. 

“A thoroughgoing book which unfolds many wise and some witty 
conclusions.” 

—The Dial. 

“A writer of distinctly unusual quality.” 

—Providence Journal. 


NORTH AND SOUTH 

“ ‘North and South’ cannot be lodged in the all too numerous category 
of ‘made’ books. It grew as naturally and with as much justification 
for its being as the birches and cypresses whose murmurous musings 
are skilfully caught to be kept in its pleasant pages.” 

, —New York Sun. 

“Mr. Kirkham’s nature books always furnish a literary treat, and his 
latest volume, ‘North and South,’ completes the nature studies begun 
in ‘East and West.’ ” 

—New York Times. 

“He writes with an intimacy with nature that is uncommon.” 

—Boston Transcript. 

“The whole book is permeated with the peacefulness of the forest.” 

—Providence Journal. 

“An unusually interesting nature book.” 

—San Francisco Chronicle. 


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